Me and Dewey #10
(December 2006a)

(Mom had computer and internet problems - 5 different kinds, including the spill-the-water-on-the-desk kind. This was SUPPOSED to be put online in November!
Spirit)

Mom got cold yesterday. When she came home, I warmed her up by jumping in her lap. That was very nice of me, 'cause she left us home alone most of the day.

I was good and didn't pick on her stuffed bunny when she left us home most of the day, even though she came in and left, came in and left, came in and leftand came in and left. That's 'cause she was sad. A lady at her church died and she was helping people feel better. I don't know why helping people feel better made her sad, 'cause making Mom feel better makes me feel good. But yesterday I couldn't make her feel better.

I did help warm her up, though. She went and did a graveyard service as pastor. She said her fingers almost froze to the book when she turned the pages. I even licked her fingers to warm them up. They tasted like lunch!

It was so cold that even Dewey couldn't walk good outside. And he is a husky. I was smart and did my stuff near the back door and could run inside even before Mom opened the door almost. Dewey likes to go 'way back to the fence line. Then he has to walk back on the cold snow.

At the go-out-before-bed time (when we get COOKIES!), he just lied down his feet hurt so much. By the time Mom put her coat on, he was at the door and came in. Mom was worried and I was worried. What would happen to Dewey if he never came in? What would happen to me? It would be no fun claiming all the good dog beds if Dewey was sleeping outside instead of in the house.

I like Dewey even though I pick on him. I just don't have anything better to do when it is too cold to stay outside. I look out the window for squirrels and other dogs, but that gets boring after awhile. I only pick on Dewey because he acts like an OLD DOG. What would I do if Dewey wasn't here to pick on?

Spirit P.

Me and Dewey #11
(December 2006b)

Mom is MEAN #2

Mom is doing strange things, like grinding her own flour. It tastes real good when I lick the bowl clean when she bakes. Even better than fresh garden grass in the summer time. The grinding thing makes a lot of nasty noise, but I forgive IT as then I get to lick the bowl soon. I like it better than my dry dog food, but the canned food really is better than licking the bowl; that's why I try to eat Dewey's share, but Mom doesn't let me . . . Mom's been making muffins with strange flours that taste good. She uses rice flour, and kamut flour, and oat flour and even hard wheat flour. She says the last one is confusing 'cause it is really whole wheat and when she bakes it needs to look almost burnt before it is done.

Well, she grinded some flour that smelled real good, in spite of all the noise the machine makes. I was sitting patiently, waiting to forgive the machine for all the noise after I licked the bowl, but Mom put the bowl in the sink and NOT ON THE FLOOR WHERE I COULD CLEAN IT FOR HER. She said it was 'cause she made chock-a-lot-full-a-chips cookies. She thinks they make dogs sick, but I know better. ALL kinds of cookies taste good and are good for dogs like me. She was just being MEAN.

(This is Mom with the Roses who sing - Spirit)

Then she made cookies and ate three of them; she said that was 'cause they looked burned up. I would have helped! I would even have let Dewey help me help! She didn't even give me a dog cookie, that is how mean she was. I decided to forgive the noisy machine (I have even decided to forgive Dewey for being old. . .)

The next thing that Me and Dewey know, Mom is going out the door to the garage saying "You stay, I Go." We don't like those words at all! A week later she came back, even though the clock said it was only 3 hours later.

She had been singing a concert with the Prairie Rose Chorus of Dickinson. She even brought pictures so that Me and Dewey could see how mean she was. Lots of people were there and there was lots of cookies, and not all of them were that chock-a-lot-full-a-chips kind, so she could have brought home a doggy bag. She didn't.She was just BEING MEAN.

(See Mom smiling and having fun while Dewey and I sit at home - WAITING FOR OUR COOKIES - Spirit)

This week she made those chock-a-lot-full-a-chips cookies again, and DID NOT LET ME CLEAN THE BOWL. This time she ate four, and didn't share. And NO DOG COOKIES EITHER.

Food to put in doggy bag - Spirit Then she said, "You stay, I go," and went to a party. No doggy bag. The next night she went to a Rotary party. No doggy bag. Then she went out again the next night. No doggy bag, AGAIN. And she says she has another Prairie Rose Chorus concert tonight . . . . and I don't think there will be a doggy bag tonight, either.

(See all this food that Mom did NOT put in a doggy bag at the concert-party?)

MOM IS MEAN.

She is so mean that she probably won't even put this column on the website.

Spirit not-P

(PS.The P usually means play or pet, but I don't want to do either of those today. Mom thinks I should have left the "P"; she thinks I am pouting, but I am NOT.)

Me and Dewey #12
(December 2006c)

Title: "I am a GOOD DOG!"

I decided to be nice to Dewey. Mom bought two nice and fluffy dog beds. They are black, so they are both mine since I am the black dog. I let Dewey have the red dog bed that he likes. It is an old-dog dog bed anyway. It helps keep an aurther itis -somebody from bothering him too much - or so Mom says. I don't know what she is talking about. I do a good job keeping everyone safe, even though Dewey doesn't help too much anymore. I wouldn't let an aurther itis somebody hurt him!I protect good!

Dewey can have the not-black dog bed that isn't fluffy. He likes it, so letting him have it is being nice. I enjoy being nice!

It is still cold outside. Mom put dog coats on us.I ran to the door when she put the coats on us, because that means we are going outside. I like going outside until I get cold. Then I scratch at the door to tell Mom it is time to be inside. Sometimes she hears and lets us in.

She was upset that she couldn't find the dog boots, but she did find the person boots. Me and Dewey don't like the dog boots or dog coats. The only thing they are good for is to tell us we are going outside when Mom puts them on us. It would be much easier for Mom to tell us we are going outside by SAYING "go outside." She does that, too. We like Mom-coats better, 'cause sometimtes that means that we are going for a walk.

We went outside. In the picture you can see the dog coat where it belongs. On the ground and not on the dog. Dewey is holding his paw up - he looks silly. I don't know why he was doing that, but it made Mom looks for the dog boots again when we got back inside.

Mom asked me where I put them, but I didn't tell. When Mom had trash at the door, I pushed the bag with the dog boots in it over to the door! And guess where the dog boots went? Outside where they belong, in the big plastic thing that those men come and steal our very old stuff that smell good from. I bark at the men because I want to keep the nice, smelly food.

But I didn’t bark they day that they stole the dog boots. No more dog boots!

Spirit P.

Oh, Mom's book is here. And Mom's special poem is here.


Home Products Reviews Order Online About Kathleen Chesnut Kathleen's Page Spirit's Page LGW's Transcending Sexual Abuse Contact Us Join Mailing List Finding Yourself Dancing into Joy: a Workbook Dancing Into Joy NEW COVER Now $12.00 Classic Cover Now $14.95		Me and Dewey #10 (December 2006a) (Mom had computer and internet problems - 5 different kinds, including the spill-the-water-on-the-desk kind. This was SUPPOSED to be put online in November! Spirit) Mom got cold yesterday. When she came home, I warmed her up by jumping in her lap. That was very nice of me, 'cause she left us home alone most of the day. I was good and didn't pick on her stuffed bunny when she left us home most of the day, even though she came in and left, came in and left, came in and leftand came in and left. That's 'cause she was sad. A lady at her church died and she was helping people feel better. I don't know why helping people feel better made her sad, 'cause making Mom feel better makes me feel good. But yesterday I couldn't make her feel better. I did help warm her up, though. She went and did a graveyard service as pastor. She said her fingers almost froze to the book when she turned the pages. I even licked her fingers to warm them up. They tasted like lunch! It was so cold that even Dewey couldn't walk good outside. And he is a husky. I was smart and did my stuff near the back door and could run inside even before Mom opened the door almost. Dewey likes to go 'way back to the fence line. Then he has to walk back on the cold snow. At the go-out-before-bed time (when we get COOKIES!), he just lied down his feet hurt so much. By the time Mom put her coat on, he was at the door and came in. Mom was worried and I was worried. What would happen to Dewey if he never came in? What would happen to me? It would be no fun claiming all the good dog beds if Dewey was sleeping outside instead of in the house. I like Dewey even though I pick on him. I just don't have anything better to do when it is too cold to stay outside. I look out the window for squirrels and other dogs, but that gets boring after awhile. I only pick on Dewey because he acts like an OLD DOG. What would I do if Dewey wasn't here to pick on? Spirit P. Me and Dewey #11 (December 2006b) *Mom is MEAN #2* Mom is doing strange things, like grinding her own flour. It tastes real good when I lick the bowl clean when she bakes. Even better than fresh garden grass in the summer time. The grinding thing makes a lot of nasty noise, but I forgive IT as then I get to lick the bowl soon. I like it better than my dry dog food, but the canned food really is better than licking the bowl; that's why I try to eat Dewey's share, but Mom doesn't let me . . . Mom's been making muffins with strange flours that taste good. She uses rice flour, and kamut flour, and oat flour and even hard wheat flour. She says the last one is confusing 'cause it is really whole wheat and when she bakes it needs to look almost burnt before it is done. Well, she grinded some flour that smelled real good, in spite of all the noise the machine makes. I was sitting patiently, waiting to forgive the machine for all the noise after I licked the bowl, but Mom put the bowl in the sink and NOT ON THE FLOOR WHERE I COULD CLEAN IT FOR HER. She said it was 'cause she made chock-a-lot-full-a-chips cookies. She thinks they make dogs sick, but I know better. ALL kinds of cookies taste good and are good for dogs like me. She was just being MEAN. (This is Mom with the Roses who sing - Spirit) Then she made cookies and ate three of them; she said that was 'cause they looked burned up. I would have helped! I would even have let Dewey help me help! She didn't even give me a dog cookie, that is how mean she was. I decided to forgive the noisy machine (I have even decided to forgive Dewey for being old. . .) The next thing that Me and Dewey know, Mom is going out the door to the garage saying "You stay, I Go." We don't like those words at all! A week later she came back, even though the clock said it was only 3 hours later. She had been singing a concert with the Prairie Rose Chorus of Dickinson. She even brought pictures so that Me and Dewey could see how mean she was. Lots of people were there and there was lots of cookies, and not all of them were that chock-a-lot-full-a-chips kind, so she could have brought home a doggy bag. She didn't.She was just BEING MEAN. (See Mom smiling and having fun while Dewey and I sit at home - WAITING FOR OUR COOKIES - Spirit) This week she made those chock-a-lot-full-a-chips cookies again, and DID NOT LET ME CLEAN THE BOWL. This time she ate four, and didn't share. And NO DOG COOKIES EITHER. Then she said, "You stay, I go," and went to a party. No doggy bag. The next night she went to a Rotary party. No doggy bag. Then she went out again the next night. No doggy bag, AGAIN. And she says she has another Prairie Rose Chorus concert tonight . . . . and I don't think there will be a doggy bag tonight, either. (See all this food that Mom did NOT put in a doggy bag at the concert-party?) MOM IS MEAN. She is so mean that she probably won't even put this column on the website. Spirit not-P (PS.The P usually means play or pet, but I don't want to do either of those today. Mom thinks I should have left the "P"; she thinks I am pouting, but I am NOT.) copyright 2006 M. Kathleen Chesnut Me and Dewey #12 (December 2006c) Title: "I am a GOOD DOG!" I decided to be nice to Dewey. Mom bought two nice and fluffy dog beds. They are black, so they are both mine since I am the black dog. I let Dewey have the red dog bed that he likes. It is an old-dog dog bed anyway. It helps keep an aurther itis -somebody from bothering him too much - or so Mom says. I don't know what she is talking about. I do a good job keeping everyone safe, even though Dewey doesn't help too much anymore. I wouldn't let an aurther itis somebody hurt him!I protect good! Dewey can have the not-black dog bed that isn't fluffy. He likes it, so letting him have it is being nice. I enjoy being nice! It is still cold outside. Mom put dog coats on us.I ran to the door when she put the coats on us, because that means we are going outside. I like going outside until I get cold. Then I scratch at the door to tell Mom it is time to be inside. Sometimes she hears and lets us in. She was upset that she couldn't find the dog boots, but she did find the person boots. Me and Dewey don't like the dog boots or dog coats. The only thing they are good for is to tell us we are going outside when Mom puts them on us. It would be much easier for Mom to tell us we are going outside by SAYING "go outside." She does that, too. We like Mom-coats better, 'cause sometimtes that means that we are going for a walk. We went outside. In the picture you can see the dog coat where it belongs. On the ground and not on the dog. Dewey is holding his paw up - he looks silly. I don't know why he was doing that, but it made Mom looks for the dog boots again when we got back inside. Mom asked me where I put them, but I didn't tell. When Mom had trash at the door, I pushed the bag with the dog boots in it over to the door! And guess where the dog boots went? Outside where they belong, in the big plastic thing that those men come and steal our very old stuff that smell good from. I bark at the men because I want to keep the nice, smelly food. But I didn’t bark they day that they stole the dog boots. No more dog boots! Spirit P. Copyright © 2006 M. Kathleen Chesnut Oh, Mom's book is here. And Mom's special poem is here.
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Me and Dewey #10(December 2006a)

Me and Dewey #10
(December 2006a)