Abbie loves Rocky, and Rocky loves his Kong. (And Abbie.)

What is the one and only thing that Abbie loves more than a puppy? A hobbit.

As Rocky snores next to me after another day full of successes (including scoring a new, super-cool frog toy some other dog left at the park), I find my head is peacefully empty. How can this be, when I have a big ol' honkin' to-do list? And when my day included so many bizarre events, like getting my picture taken with the drunk family of strangers? I think Rocky's snores are magic.

Instead of making our own album (vanity!), we should do the world an actual favor and produce "Puppy Snoring." After it goes platinum, our edgy sophomore effort ("More Snores") will confuse the critics but electrify the fans. Then we'll follow up with "Acoustic Snores," "Snoring through the Holidays" and eventually a "Greatest Snores" retrospective.

Peaceful empty-headedness to all y'all.



Insomnia


The moon in the bureau mirror
looks out a million miles
(and perhaps with pride, at herself,
but she never, never smiles)
far and away beyond sleep, or
perhaps she's a daytime sleeper.

By the Universe deserted,
she'd tell it to go to hell,
and she'd find a body of water,
or a mirror, on which to dwell.
So wrap up care in a cobweb
and drop it down the well

into that world inverted
where left is always right,
where the shadows are really the body,
where we stay awake all night,
where the heavens are shallow as the sea
is now deep, and you love me.


Elizabeth Bishop