Coydog Chalcedony--Puppies

   
   "Coydog Chalcedony--Puppies"
   
   Celestine cruised home, her coydog pal dreaming of having puppies, or so Celestine thought, noticing there seems to be no more garden-variety coyotes, like folks, we're all so mixed, some shaken and some stirred.
   But it was the simplicity of the dog; moreover, the loyalty that defied ideas of consciousness, and while dogs possessed such in her mind, so did they have a conscience, for a dog sometimes feels guilty after he pees on your STAR WARS sleeping bag.  Celestine knew androids have consciousness, from a certain point of view, and even if they develop a conscience; still, there's always a way to manipulate empathetic forces, until the snowman from Hoth touches their heart.
   Celestine pulled up in her gravel driveway, glimpsing the glare of a setting Sun and the Moon hiding, but showing a real rise.  It was rural.  It was country--bucolic beauty did she appreciate, away from the high-speed stupidity of lazy, so unlike coyote spirit, which is fast too, yet has the purpose of making us all laugh, even at ourselves.  
   Thus, before she exited the car, she popped a zit, and its semi-toxic fluid splattered the rear-view mirror.  She cleaned it up, and was glad to not wear the mask of make-up, like back-in-the-day, when high school morphed her self-absorbed, forgetting nature without cell phone towers. 
   Cody the coydog followed her into a pastoral habitat, tail wagging.   

Coydog Chalcedony

   
   "Coydog Chalcedony"
   
   Celestine sat @ the dump, more like a scattered junkyard for waste; plus, plenty of mechanical debris, such as lawnmowers, old trucks, and an Indian Motorcycle that had more rust than wheels; moreover, while it was the local county dump for those not subscribing to trash pick-up services, it also housed a spirit of things recycled and gained--Celestine's queer but heavenly name described her modest demeanor and controlled passion for existence, especially with her fancy coydog she bought off of the Internet, Cody.
   Cody was always there, wearing a snazzy collar with a small Chalcedony stone, it having in-growths of quartz and moganite, as if quartz really does grow like flowers, especially in Arkansas, where crystals are a natural abundance.
   It was a walk-in-the-park gig for Celestine, this life, yet not without Herculean tasks, or seemingly so, like a lot of Cinderella labors.  As long as Cody was there, and futurity hinted at every possibility targeted by Celestine's dreams, she knew she wouldn't have to make it out, but make it farther into her interior life, yet mesh with the masses, stay away from media save the sophisticated, and remember that dogs are always loyal when working on the reward system, though fetch for fun.  

Hawk On A Deck - Nashville, Tennessee

Amos Hart--40 Punch

   
   "Amos Hart--40 Punch"
   
   Ginger was cranking up the nicotine by way of a non-filtered Lucky, going old school, and Bucko was one big tail wagging in the back while Amos Hart piloted the 350 Rocket; next, on a clue to the highway, no traffic save the drones overhead, a tuned-up Toyota approached the archaic eight-cylinder, sounding like a screeching zipper mixed with a naughty nurse's nails on the chalkboard; however, the Olds sounded smooth.
   Some good-old-boy with a Mexican mustache, very fancy for Johnny Depp and the Jump Street Gang, leaned his head out into the Arctic temperatures and shouted a 40 Punch challenge to Amos, which of course he accepted, not liking competition, but having pure love of the game.
   The Toyota shot-off like a loose condemn when the confetti sprayed, Ginger said a "Hail Mary" for thinking such things; then, she realized this world has given us all "Grody to the Max" images, and the Cutlass just hummed like a hair-dryer, not winning, but remaining eternally classic--a well-respected construction of the highly cerebral granny cooter.
   And for her sins, Ginger would pray the Rosary today, adoring the Glorious Mysteries of Sunday.  

Trouble- I AM BANNER!

Amos Hart--Never change the color of a Hot Rod

   
   "Amos Hart--Never change the color of a Hot Rod"
   
   Amos Hart listened, as Solomon instructed, in Biblical fashion.  Yet not to nurse nasty words, unless the architect intended to charm.  
   Not a sparrow falls that His Father doesn't know about, Jesus mentioned.  Not animism today for Amos, though Bucko and his Aloe Vera plant were giving oxygen, or something nice.
   Amos didn't care about size, color, gender, multi-hued violet or amber eyes, well--it meant something, yet if the LAW of His Father and Himself are followed; next, Earth experiences a gelled mercy.
   Amos Hart bought some spicy beef jerky for his pal, Bucko; at the same time, he bought two pieces for himself, on sale @ Walgreens.  How nice was the check-out Lady.  And she fought despair everyday, for we all are the same, yet lack focus on a shared intention.  Amos laid rubber out of there, goosing the Olds.  It allowed the asphalt Earth to know that he was still on the battlefield, as are many that have passed, as if children or truck drivers, observing, and more . . .

Pigeon vs Peregrine Falcon - Animals: The Inside Story - BBC