Here I rest, kicked back under this hazy sky, just a-listenin' to the crickets sawin' away and the singin' grass. Got me a good buddy who says he's been up in the two-legged critters' neck of the woods and heard him string-sounds that could make a growed-up Pdog cry. A harp, they calls it. But he don't think it much at all set up next to this here prairie and the wind.
Days is gettin' short in these parts and this ol' Pdog is gettin' a mite testy, ready for the long sleep, you know? The warm Dark, deep down away from winter's fierce ol' bite. But not yet. No, sir, I got to enjoy these last sweet days from brim to dregs before I sleep. All my little mamas are fussin' around gettin' their nests just right--you know how it is. Leaves me time to set out and listen to the birds callin' their young'uns in for the trek south. Always wondered what it's like--south. Them birds sing of hot days and warm water and the rough flyin'. 'Course this ol' Pdog cain't fly--cain't even imagine what that'd be like, you know? Up there lookin' down and singin' on the wing.
Well, I 'spect the ground's good enough for the likes of me. Soft and dark and deep. Heck, I'm gettin' down right drowsy just thinkin' on it. Time to tuck in and let that ol' north wind sing me to sleep.