Pets

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Food, For Children, Humor, Pets

Do You Have a Pet?

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Do you have a pet?

A dog or cat you board when traveling?

Or ask someone to come in to feed?

Take walking while you’re away?

A turtle or lizard?

A tank of exotic fish?

I have none of those.

But, I do have a pet residing with me.

Requiring care when I vacation.

What kind? you ask.

My colony of yeast.

Quietly bubbling for over thirty-five years.

Flavoring breads, crackers.

Asking little of me when I leave.

Except for food to tide it over.

So, the night before, I remove some sourdough.

Mix a cup of flour with water till smooth.

Stir it gently into the pitcher.

Letting it sit a few hours on the counter.

To digest its meal.

Burp carbon dioxide, alcohol.

Then gently place it in the refrigerator.

To slow its metabolism.

For a week or several.

Depending on my plans.

Once home, I rush to greet my pet.

Like any pet owner would.

Pull the jar from the cold.

Inspect the hooch.

The gray liquid ringing the container.

The voice of hungry yeast.

Ravenous, begging to eat.

Gently, I stir it from the bottom.

Mix a little flour, water.

Fold it in.

Reassure that soon, I’ll bake.

Remove a cup to a bowl.

Make a sponge to rise overnight.

Start a loaf the next day.

Give the sourdough in the pitcher

a welcome meal to devour.

Yummy flour and warm water

to increase its frothy power!

 

Lynn Benjamin

March 1, 2024

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Holidays, Jewish Holidays, People Traits, Pets

Gray Day

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The day was gray.

Punctuated with images.

Rain starting at ten.

Exactly as predicted.

An old woman in the gym.

Pedaling as though she were a cycling marathoner.

I, talking by phone to each of four children.

Unusual same day event.

Whipping up a dozen latkes, lickety-split.

Homage to the persisting oil at the Temple.

But, most impressive, the great horned owl.

Captured by my brother-in-law.

Licensed falconer.

Trainer of native birds.

Now tutoring a yellow-eyed owl.

How do you befriend a wild predator?

Engender faith and trust?

Greg must have uncommon knack.

Feeding well, treating just.

 

Lynn Benjamin

December 16, 2023

 

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Mother Love, Pets

That’s What a Mother’s For

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That’s what a mother’s for, I exclaimed.

To laughter and glee.

Among a group of female neighbors.

Discussing a ruffian.

As I zoned out a few seconds.

Flashing back in time.

To things I did for my children.

Feeding, cuddling, carrying.

Changing diapers, bathing, dressing.

Listening to upsets, tucking into bed.

Taking long walks, providing experiences.

Intervening when in trouble.

Like my neighbor does for little Cash

when a bully’s on the loose.

Guarding her pink and gray French bulldog

from an unleashed poodle’s abuse!

 

Lynn Benjamin

October 26, 2023

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

All Poems, Animals/Insects, Food, Humor, Love, Pets

My Pet

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I admire people who share their lives with pets.
Chihuahuas, spaniels, poodles.
Or, cats, Siamese, Persian, calico.
Even hamsters, turtles, fish.
I, too, have a pet,
much smaller than the aforementioned.
But it does require feeding, care, a home,
which I have willingly supplied for over thirty years.
In case you haven’t yet guessed,
my pet is a colony of wild yeast
that gobbles flour, water with voracious appetite.
It feasts, then belches carbon dioxide, alcohol,
which together easily raise
a batch of dough, a mix or match of whole wheat,
rye, oat, unbleached white.
In truth, we have a co-dependent relationship.
I’m sure I have the best end of the bargain.
Honorably, some make the ultimate sacrifice.
They leaven a loaf or two,
effervesce, swell, slip into the oven,
effuse earthy aromas, deliver edible creations.
Others stay behind to munch the usual noon time fare.
Cleanup is negligible, a swipe of the sponge.
The smell of aged fermenting fungi is divine.
It excites the nose, and each taste bud on the tongue.
Kneading with the hands awakens fingers, skin.
My pet arouses all my senses, a prerequisite for love.
When I complain, it listens without judgment.
It eats only grain, water, two staples in my home.
Its bubbly waste is a cheery guarantee
that my bread will be voluminous, tall.
And provided it’s maintained, well fed,
my pet should live as long as I bake bread.

Lynn Benjamin
June 17, 2021

Adult Children, All Poems, Family, Food, Holidays, Humor, Pets, Stories, Thanksgiving

Pets That Lure

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Only a month or two ago,
my sister-in-law brought a new
puppy into the house.
The goal, to lure young adult
children home.
To visit baby Zola.
A part of me wished I could entice my grown children to come, stay over.
Alas, no pets on four legs here.
Only a fermented dough of over thirty years.
Living, breathing, needing food.
And I, its mother.
Well, yesterday to my surprise,
a friend called to ask if she could drop by for sourdough.
For sourdough? you ask.
To take some sourdough to make a starter.
No matter.
My darling drew someone to my house.
And so it was.
We siphoned off a cup of mine into her container.
Fed them both till they belched bubbles.
Voilà. Done.
My pet off to sire new breads in another household.
A launching of sorts.
A joy.
But also, a farewell.
Though I’m confident, it will be fine.
But I wonder how my sourdough,
effervescent, mature,
could coax my children home again
like sweet pup, Zola, the lure.
I suppose by lending flavor
to loaves of breads by dozens.
French, rye, pumpernickel.
They’d come, bring their cousins.
We’d be a happy bunch.
Every day Thanksgiving.
Feed our pet, our leavening,
so it continues living.
Likely it would survive beyond
a normal human life span.
As long as it was fed, stirred
by a nimble spoon in light hand.
So my sourdough, could now be
a magnet just like a pet.
With added grace, taste, smell
of a freshly baked baguette.

Lynn Benjamin
November 22, 2021