Pants and Poetry

We will return to pants blogging shortly, but first a rhyming interlude from my poetical book "Beastly Bestiary."

When I am not blogging about pants, I am moose wardening for the U.S. Department of the Interior at Isle Royale National Park in Lake Superior.

And when I am not pants blogging or wardening mooses or meese or whatever they are called when you have more than one of them which I often do and in my living room, I am writing poetry about animals.

Such as our friend the echidna, of which there are none in the northern hemisphere, except in cages, the poor things.

ECHIDNA

Echidna,

What is ya?

An enigma!

I’m not kiddin’ ya.

Like a spiny deep sea urchin,

He waddles, and he’s lurchin’.

He has a birdy snouty straw-type beak,

And squinty eyes through which he peeks.

With a tongue that’s sticky and protrusible,

He leaves Aussie anthills all unusable.

A monotreme extreme, he seems

A creature from a Dali dream.

Since echidnas all have quills,

Mating is a thorny thrill.

He-chidnas travel in a train,

Nose-to-tail, a dozen, down the lane—

For weeks lovelorn, they waddle and abstain.

At last, the strongest shoves the others off

While she-chidna is treed and scoffs.

For the winner, there is no goofing off, no rest, no sleep

He digs a trough, a moat ten-inch deep.

With no escape and being penned,

Quickly our prickly Rapunzel descends.

Into her he, so as not to offend, backs in.

Some g’days later, out struggles the puggle!

To you, mom and pug may seem most uggle.

But in her eyes, to love him is to gnome.

Thus, happy ends our one-kid ma poem.

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Echidnas don't wear no pants, but they are some tough little guys.