Sometimes the water has all kinds of stuff in it; leaves and sticks, slimy green stuff, dead bugs, live bugs. Sometimes it’s been baking in the summer sun all day, just a shallow layer at the bottom of my dish. It’s hot and murky, and smells funny, and has a loamy sort of flavor that leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

It’s worth is incalculable in comparison to having no water at all.

Like the water, we must take what life brings us and be satisfied with it.
We must drink the stale and leafy water in its time, and also when it is sparkling clear, freshly dispensed from the spigot, and cold as the well.

Wag more, bark less.


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What’s that? You think you’ve dishonored my memory by not thinking of me often enough?

Silly boy. Time has no meaning when you’re dead.

You’re thinking of me now, aren’t you?

Relax. I know what we mean to one another.

We have the rest of forever to carry on our remembrances.

And you know we will. This hard lesson you learned the hard way, long before me.

I must admit it’s nice to remember with you.

I’ll be here.




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Wet Walk

Some days it just rains, from sunup to sundown, on into the night.

We still need to go out. Out into the rain.

We need the water.

We shall go out into the rain.
We’ll walk in the rain.
We’ll be thankful we can do so.

We don’t complain about rain around here.
That would be folly.

Some days, it just rains.


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Sure, October.

Or Fall.


Call it whatever you want.

I’ll be out enjoying it.

I call it “now”.

– Chuy

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If you have true regrets, of your own deeds and pasts, actions, neglects, you cannot deny their existence.

Their only potential for positive is to serve as lessons for the Now and the Next.

Whatever else remains of them should be discarded, tossed, crushed as mulch for your Garden of Hopes and Dreams.

  • Chuy

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Each time I reach this place, I hear your shadow walking with me.

Each time I feel your spirit here I am left with a choice.

I can wallow in anguish over that which is no more.

Or I can revel in the beautiful memories that will last





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Chuy’s Trail Morning


That I might rise before the sun,
Before the waking world’s begun
To sing aloud of another day.
Reticence is my way.


Summer’s Ease


That I might see the greening grass,
Or sparkling snow, and clouds that pass
And beyond them the great wide aquamarine skies
The color of your eyes.


Out Here


That I might feel hot sunny days,
The summer wind as the cottonwood sways.
And driven snow, and chilling cold,
When striking out feels brave and bold.


Avenue Of The Pines


That I might savor this vapor rich
With piney woods and muddy ditch.
The taste of water, clear and cool
Fresh from a springtime pool.




That I might lay me down to sleep
With promises yet to keep,
Feeling sure, as the stars shine above,
I am loved, and so, too, I love.


Chuy the Wonderdog



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On The Trail


Know why we love each other so much?

Neither do I.

Let’s walk.



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Avenue Of The Pines


No excuses. He kept me on task.

You can’t explain things to a dog. Apologize for the inconvenience. Reschedule.

You can’t blame the clock or your hectic schedule or your heavy workload or the demands of others. You can’t text him or leave a voice mail. You can’t thank him for graciously accepting the disappointment. You can’t cancel due to bad weather.

You must deliver.

Seek peace,


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Me: Did you notice, in this light, you and Gus are almost the same color?

Chuy: Color?

Me: Yeah, you know. You’re both mostly black, you have that in common.

Chuy: Black?

Me: Yes. Unlike Doone, who is only a little black.

Chuy: I’m sorry. I have no idea what you’re talking about.

Me: The differences. In colors.

Chuy: You forget, dogs are colorblind. Me, you, Gus, Doone. They all look the same to me.

Me: Oh yes, of course. I forgot.

Chuy: Your color thing is useless. Probably why the superior canine is not hobbled so.

Me: What do you mean?

Chuy: Well, it doesn’t tell you anything about what they are like on the inside.


Chuy And Doone


Seek peace.
We mean that.


Paz & Chuy

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