Harry's Dream

     The time it takes for Harry to fall asleep is about as long as it would take for a fly to blink an eye…except for the fact that flies don’t blink their eyes. But, that’s probably another story… for another day.  

Harry’s Dream  

Harry closed his heavy eyes, 

His chin went to the ground.

He took a breath and let it out, 

Blowing the dust around.

Then he took another breath, 

This one extra deep,

By the time he let it out, 

He was sound asleep

Soon his mind began to wander, 

Harry began to dream.

He was dog-paddling through the air, 

Just above the stream.

Thinking about a buried bone, 

One he dreamed last week,

Buried near the cedar stump, 

Right beside the creek.

By now it should be nice and ripe,

Ready to be chewed.

"Perfect timing" Harry thought,

‘I’m in a chewing mood!’

In the time it takes a gnat, 

To make a little sneeze,

Harry was in the tractor seat, 

And driving it with ease.

With the ‘Little Garden Helper’, 

Following right along,

He was off to fetch that bone, 

Whistling a little song.

Harry often drives the tractor, 

When he has a dream,

Even driving into town, 

As odd as that may seem.

He sometimes wears a pair of shades, 

Looking very cool,

Driving to the frosty-freeze, 

And cruising past the school.

Once he plowed the main street up, 

And planted rows of corn.

Barny-Fido pulled him over, 

And looked at him with scorn.

He showed Harry a dog-tag badge, 

And waved his paws around.

“One more time” Barny said,

“And you’ll go to the pound!”

But that was in another dream,

By Harry, the hungry hound.

Now he's off to fetch that bone,

And drive the tractor around!

Harry drove the rusty tractor, 

Down beside the creek,

Ready to get that buried bone, 

The one he dreamed last week.

In half-a-wag there he was, 

Digging with all his might.

Very soon there it was, 

Oh, what a lovely sight!

Other bones just weren’t the same, 

None of ‘em anywhere.

This one’s simply the very best, 

Others can’t even compare.

Eating such a wonderful thing, 

Almost seemed a shame,

But it seemed to glow with beauty, 

Calling out his name.

Postman Jim came walking by, 

He was on his route, 

Bringing airmail to the birds,

Wearing his postman suit.

He waved his hat and said “Hello, 

That’s a muddy mess!

Would ya like a little help?” 

Harry nodded "Yes"  

Jim stuck an air-mail stamp, 

Upon the gear-shift knob,

And another on Harry’s rump, 

“That should do the job!”

He rubber-stamped them postage paid, 

Then with a whooshing sound,

He waved his hat, and just like that,

He mailed them into town.

With a whistle Jim returned

To what he does the best

Delivering mail, even to birds,

Sending it to their nest

There was Harry, ready to go,

In front of the General Store,

Just as Barny-Fido came, 

Walking out the door.

Harry started the tractor up, 

And with his cool shades on

He spun the wheels and flung the mud, 

To the sidewalk and beyond.

Clumps and clods flew everywhere, 

Landing in the street.

Anyone who might walk by,

Would get some muddy feet.

Barny-Fido started to howl, 

Making a siren sound,

Holding up his dog-tag badge, 

And waiving it around.

“You’re going to the pound!” he yelped, 

“You’ve been warned before.

Flinging mud is not allowed, 

In front of the General Store.”

Barny looked behind the seat, 

And saw the tasty bone

“I’m taking that as ‘evidence’, 

I’ll uhh... keep it at my home.”

In the time that it would take, 

A top to spin around,

Barny put a leash on Harry, 

And led him to the pound.

The tractor drove itself back home, 

And put itself away,

Like a homesick horse might do, 

At the end of the day.

Harry sat in the dog-pound room, 

The stamp still on his rump,

Wishing he’d just left that bone, 

Buried at the stump.

     Before the farmer climbed into the truck he noticed that the tailpipe was just barely touching the ground. He looked at Harry, with his head hanging out of the window and his tongue hanging out of his mouth, and he said, "Well little buddy, at least we don't have to worry about getting lost. All we have to do is follow the trail that our tailpipe leaves in the gravel and we'll surely find our way back home."

     Curtis climbed into the driver's seat and started the truck. He looked into the mirror as he adjusted it, then with a puzzled look he said, “That’s odd, I don’t remember the tractor being so muddy. Oh well, I guess we can give her a bath later.” He put the truck into gear and off they went... to Riddle Day at the Farmer's Market!