We have many wonderful writers on the Cat. Over the years, I've enjoyed posts on almost every conceivable topic. Unfortunately, they're scattered all over the place and as things are set up, they have to be under a topic. I don't know what limitations Mudcat may have on length of a post (maybe we can get some guidance, here.) But, I thought it might be nice to have a corner where writers can post whatever they feel moved to write.

For the last few months, I've been going to a website: gather.com. It's supposedly primarily for writers, but the way that they've set it up discourages any on-going conversation. For starters, when somone posts a comment, it doesn't refresh the thread, so after a week, it becomes impossible to find the article, and it drops off the map. The best thing that the web site did for me was to make me appreciate Mudcat.

So, pending approval by the Mudcat Top Cats on length, I thought I'd start this thread with something reasonably short bout dogs. A favorite topic of mine. It also has song lyrics, but I wouldn't recommend that posts to this thread be limited to music.

I'm starting this for selfish reasons. I'd enjoy reading what others want to post.

Rosco

Back in the 40's, a dog's life wasn't all that bad. There were no leash laws, the streets were safer with fewer cars, and for the most part, dogs prospered through a certain amount of benign neglect. Dogs had their reason for existing (at least the ones that somebody owned,) because hunting was a regular weekend occupation for most men in town, and a dog helped to earn his keep. Of course, there were more disreputable dogs, like Rosco, too: dogs that were either strays, or were owned by a family that tolerated them as much as they loved them. Those dogs savored the night life of Janesville, for what there was, and had their regular rounds to make during the day. They commonly traveled in small groups (no pack, or anything that seemed threatening,) and they led a rather casual life. You would see them hanging around downtown or in the scruffier neighborhoods, looking for handouts or testing the lids of all the garbage cans along their route. They were generally friendly and good natured, and no one ever worried if they had rabies, or that they didn't have a good, loving home. No self-respecting dog would ever allow himself to be dressed in one those cute little doggie sweaters they sell these days, or be washed with no-tears doggie shampoo. On the rare occasion when they got to smelling so bad that they needed a bath, Ivory soap worked just fine. I don't ever remember having a leash for our dog (a rope was considered serviceable enough, if you had to tie up your dog for some reason, and dogs generally had the run of the house and the neighborhood.) On the whole, dogs were quite self-sufficient, street wise and capable of quick thinking on their four feet. I met dogs like Rosco all the time, although I'm not sure that I ever knew who owned them. They were the dogs you met down by the ice house or the railroad track who suddenly appeared, usually wet and dirty, with tongue hanging out and tail wagging. They happily accepted any sign of affection, and were full of enthusiasm for any of the games we would dream up (dogs are poison: if one touches you, you are out of the game.) They would play with you until they lost interest, and then wander off to see what was happening down the street. There was certainly no need of dog psychiatrists.
Nowadays, dogs, like Rosco would probably be rounded up by someone and taken to the Humane Society to stay there unclaimed for the required number of days, and then put to sleep.


ROSCO                            words and music by Jerry Rasmussen

Put another bowl on the floor, Mildred, I think Rosco's got a friend
Coming back home at all hours of the night, and he don't say where he's been
Walking kinda funny with his legs stuck out, and his tail's flying at half mast
And I don't think he's going to live to see another winter if he don't stop living so fast.

Only yesterday I saw Rosco's brother, he's the pride of the family
You'd never find him hanging 'roung the railroad yard, or keeping bad company
Everybody says he's just a family dog, and he's never known to harm a thing
And if you want to find him he'll be sleeping in the sunlight underneath the front porch swing

Every cat in town is going to sleep uneasy when Rosco's on the prowl
And if you got a bitch you better keep her tied up, 'cause if she hears Rosco's howl
She'll be off and running, to Hell and gone on a midnight rendevouz
And you can keep your back porch light burning all night, 'cause there's nothing else that you can do

Words and music by Jerry Rasmussen

As a writer and songwriter the two often converge. I've recorded this song on Back When I Was Young, and the writing is part of a book of memoires I'm working on.