In a most comfortable chair at the foot of my bed, I read. The dog, a shih tzu, is on the bed behind me, snoring. I laugh, and my wife, already tucked in but not yet asleep, laughs too. Later, with the lights out, we again share the moment and chuckle over the still snoring dog. Then she, being an expert on doggie ways, informs me that pugs snore more than shih tzu do. My friend Steve has three pugs. We imagine him in bed, the three pugs snoring while he tries to sleep. Do they harmonize? Do they snore in three-four time? We say our goodnights with audible smiles. I plan to write about it but don’t trust my memory, and so I record the incident in a notebook I keep on my nightstand. Finished, I hear my wife snoring gently, the dog sighing and then . . . 

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3 Responses to Snoring

  1. bettyjochang says:

    Hi norm,
    Here’s an irrelevant poem ’bout your cousin Steven.
    Merry Christmas


    He stood in the front yard.
    Full glory Roy Rogers.
    Spurs, boots, chaps and vest.
    Hat jaunty cocked over one eyebrow.

    Six shooter cap pistol;
    With melmac white ‘ivory’ grip.
    With chrome barrels, gleaming sleek
    Holstered on gun belt slung casually on hip.

    Within in ready reach of
    the hand that rest lightly on that
    Cool easy grip.
    Sparkling smile.

    They were playing Cowboys and Indians.
    Every lilac bush harbored danger,
    Lurking behind it,
    War paint and hatchet in hand.
    She’d begged a chance to shoot too.
    He refused. “No. I’ll protect you.”
    “Guns are for men.”

    Even then though, as children.
    Such generosity of spirit.
    Ever Inventive,
    He’d pulled a roll of caps from his pocket.
    Showed her how to pound
    Caps between rocks on the unpaved road.
    Out front of the house.

    Exploding them one right after another to
    That thrilling snap and smell of gunpowder.

    He was ever Mindful of Tradition.
    Yet willing to share half his cap roll.

    He cautioned, “watch your eyes.”
    Then little sister stewardship satisfied,
    Returned to his adventure, shooting lilac bush Injuns.

    She pondered the caution for a moment or two.
    “I don’t know how to watch my eyes.”
    But then gunpowder scent wafted up to her nose.
    It smelled even better than Gram’s Jasmine tea.

    So she focused instead upon setting off another cap.
    Her eyes knew where to look to do that.

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