Poetry Stream

14 November 2025

The gap from the previous post is here explained–one of the many times I caught whatever was going around. Both of the poetry collections mentioned below are available on our poetry page.

15 October 2012

For those who might have been wondering, we are still among the living, although we have suffered a bout with whatever latest bug is going around (the problem with poor health and a wife who teaches elementary school–she brings it home, beats it without getting sick, and graciously passes it to me!). Also, we are in the process of changing medication (getting off one to start another that will hopefully work better), which has increased our normal irritation & crankiness to unbearable (I might have been shown the door, if I hadn’t recovered somewhat from the ill-effects of both). Witness to the fact of my beginning to recover is that yesterday I managed to write three poems while waiting for various meetings to begin–quite an accomplishment for a sick, cranky professor!

In the poetry department, I have been working on two separate collections: one, a second “Broiler Pit” volume (there were and are far too many stories to tell from growing up in “The Pit” for a single collection) and a “Stump Farm” volume, with stories from my Priest River days. This second volume is nearing completion (or so I hope), and I realized this week that there were a couple of important matters (i.e., ‘characters’), one of them a tribute to our former farm dog, “Fred”:

The Only Thing that Frightened Him

While I was away from stump farm
serving
mission for our church
my brothers
walked
around stump farm
checking
roads for fallen trees
early one spring they
heard
high-pitched whimpering
puppy abandoned
by side of Highway 57
near outlet of “Old Road”
into stump farm
took him home
fed
named
him “Fred” he became
our farm dog
part Blue Heeler he
thanked
us for our timely rescue
becoming fiercely loyal
protective
of our women no
traveling salesman or
undesirable
stood any chance
against
Fred’s fierce protection
each day when
mother & baby sister–
only three years–
walked
half-mile to Highway 57
retrieved
day’s mail Fred
ranged
ahead & around perfect
four-legged scout
on one return trip black bear
stumbled
onto dirt road between
mother & sister & home
although triple his size Fred
attacked
nipping at bear’s heels
chasing
bear away protecting
defenseless frightened women
not even moose–feared
by anyone sensible–
ranging
down from Canada periodically
frightened
Fred who in spite of my call
chased
moose on his way north
but there was one thing–
only one–that
scared
Fred–thunder
loud cracks that
shook
ground & farmhouse
thunderstorms were rare
so far north
coming during driest
season lightning strikes
setting
forest ablaze we’d go on
lightning watch
putting out fires before
started
one summer night we
gathered
around card table in living room
brothers & I
playing Dungeons & Dragons
slaying
monsters finding treasure distant
thunder rumbled lightning
flashed
storm moving closer thunder
shook
house we heard
crash
breaking wood scrabbling
paws whimpering
beneath table Fred
cowered
having broken through back door
screen
outside dog now inside
shaking
from his only fear.

When last of us
moved
from North Idaho stump farm
south to warmer clime
Fred could not go
none of rest of us
could take him mom
claimed
little old lady
adopted
our farm dog she
admitted
many years later that
Fred had found
no new home
instead
put to sleep
forever
now another shard
of memory
resting
on floor of room
in my mind
marked
“stump farm.”

We hope that all of you enjoy this tribute to “good old Fred”; look forward for more from us in the future–every time I dip the bucket into the well of inspiration, I bring up more ideas!