Dave’s Hot Rod Rides By Zephyr Proffitt

My human’s name is Dave Proffitt. He showed up at my Mom’s place a long time ago. He was smiling and looking at my family, bros and sisters. Well finally my surrogate Mom Cris Sweeney decided it was time I had a human family. So I met Dave. 

I’m glad Dave adopted me, he’s nice to me.  He talks to me all the time. When I tell my other doggies about that they prick their ears forward and tilt their heads from side to side. The neighbor’s dog down the street isn’t really my buddy  he’s sort of a jerk really but I feel sorry for him because he says his human doesn’t talk much to him except “ shut up, be quiet.” He says he doesn’t like his human’s tone much. I don’t like that either.  

Most of us dogs can smell lots of things besides other dogs, food, and who peed on the trees last. We can smell fear, humor, and fun. We can smell water a long ways away. One of Cris’s dogs human had cancer and when I asked her (female doggie) about it she said she could smell it in him. Dave just smells like aftershave, deodorant, mouthwash, laundry soap, gasoline, grease. His left hand smells funny after he’s been handling that long black thing with strings on it that makes noise. I think Dave calls it a “guitar?”  His fingers smell like stainless steel and something else I can’t put my paw on right now.  His guitar has a battery inside it, and when it runs down it smells different than when it’s charged up. Sometimes I try to tell Dave it’s getting low while he’s playing and bark at him. He used to tell me to be quiet in a nice gentle way but now he listens more to me. He actually took the battery out of the guitar yesterday and took it back where that worthless, stinky, leaking washing machine deal is. I think he does something to the battery with the washing machine that part of humans I don’t get yet but I’ll figure it out.

Dave has this thing called a car. I love cars. They are just so fun to ride in! Dave rolls the windows down and I get to ride in the back seat or shotgun as he calls it when he wants to go somewhere. The wind blows into the back seat and supercharges my nose with more smells than I can possibly process. In fact it makes me kinda high. A doggy high I think. I like hanging my head out the window, the wind feels really nice going thru my fur, and it makes my ears flap around a lot, reminds me of that dog cartoon in Peanuts.  I like riding in Dave’s car he calls it an Oldsmobile?  This thing has no back seat so I can lounge around there with lots of room. I can walk all over the back in that car. I look right out the back windows which usually scares people in other cars when they see me.  Dave’s Oldsmobile is loud especially to dog ears. But it’s not too bad really. The sound is so deep it just sort of makes my fur stand up on end.  It’s got this really cool beat to it and sort of reminds me of my wolf cousin Wyatt that has this really cool rolling jog like canter.  When Dave steps down with his right foot the noise gets louder by a lot and I have to sit down and really watch my balance. It gives me a funny feeling in my tummy too. Once I threw up in the Olds but Dave never got mad he just pulled over and let me outside to walk around and he cleaned up the mess and we took off again. I was fine after that. In fact I never got car sick again after that.  Dave lets me sit in what he calls the passenger seat. There’s only one seat in this car besides his so I guess all the seats in all the rest of the cars are passenger seats too then?  Dog logic here.  I like sitting in the front seat of the Oldsmobile it’s really comfy, I think the Kirky  humans who made this seat had my dog butt in mind. Dave put part of the safety harness on me one day. The lap and crotch belts didn’t fit too good but the shoulder straps fit after Dave adjusted them. Boy I felt really cool riding around like that. He even stuck a pair of sun glasses on me. People thought I was really handsome I think. We couldn’t use them because they kept falling off my head. I am a dog after all. Dave kissed me for doing it. He’s like that. I think I like being kissed by humans. It’s a nice experience. Dave brags a lot about me to other humans. I can smell when someone is lying or as he calls it “bullshitting.” The dude down the street smells like a huge pile of “bullshit.” I don’t like the timbre of his voice, it’s squeaky and trembly, probably not so as a human would notice it but I can hear it trembling in the background.  Wyatt my wolf cousin told me that if you hear that from a human it means they are lying about something. Wyatt’s never wrong about anything.  Dave’s voice is pretty steady most of the time unless he’s doing something that resembles coughing only he smiles while he doing it. I think I heard that was called laughter. When Dave plays with me he does strange things with the pitch of his voice and the tones. It makes me want to tear around the house and act silly. He laughs at me a lot when I do this. I love playing with Dave.  We have wrestling matches on the bed. I always win. He says I cheat.  I don’t cheat I just use Dog logic. If you lightly nip a human on their back and down their arms it makes them laugh and then they can’t wrestle. So that’s what I do. Hey it works. 

Dave has this pretty red headed girl pal. Her name is Laraine. Dave just calls her L.  Guess he’s too lazy to say her name. I think it’s nice it sounds good thru dog ears. She’s really pretty and nice to me. She hugs me, and kisses my head; she brings me toys, balls and such. She also has one of these guitar things too. Her left hand smells just like Dave’s. I think the guitar has something to do with this. Dog logic. She also smells way different in some things than Dave does. I think that’s because she’s a female.  I know Dave likes her. They always smile at each other a lot and laugh. I never worry about humans when they are laughing.  

I heard the guy down the street, you know the bad smelling dude, telling someone that dogs can’t see colors. How does he know? He really smelled of cow poop that day. He drives this bad looking blue pickup. It smokes a lot and stinks kinda like he does. Dave told me when he drove past us one day, “stinks huh Zeph, well it’s a damn diesel.”  There was lots of black smoke coming out of the back end of the truck. There was some other stuff coming out with the smoke. Funny looking tiny sparkle-like stuff. I wish I could get Dave to understand “Dog” better I’d tell him about this stuff. Dave told me he thinks the engine is going in this truck whatever that means. I think it’s the same stuff that I see coming out of the smoke. Dog logic. 

This summer was fun at night too. Dave took me outside, with him. He told me he was taking pictures of the stars, whatever that means. He has this little black box that he fusses with and sits it on top of this three legged thing that I tipped over one time. He swears at the little black box once in a while.  When I’m outside I like to look around. I can see things in the dark real easy. Dave can’t see this stuff I don’t think. He tells me I have really reflective retinas whatever those are. He says it’s something in my eyes. I don’t know. I can see bugs running around under leaves with no streetlights on, I can see colors that float around in the air, I don’t think humans can see this stuff. Sometimes those odd colors smell funny too. Sometimes they smell good. The ones that smell good either make me want to play or eat. That’s why I like to tear around when it’s what Dave calls Pitch Black. He calls me a “Crazy Thing.” He says it nicely and laughs so I think that’s pretty good.  

I forgot a couple of things about riding around in the Olds. First of all I like the way it smells when it’s making noise. It’s strong but it’s also kinda exciting and fun. When I get inside it it smells sorta like it does when it’s making noise only not so strong and a little different. I can also smell some kind of perfume. Its  a sweet sort of woodsy smell but not really real woods. Dave plays around with these little things that look like trees with strings on top of them He has them hanging up in the Olds from this thing he welded in there he calls “A roll cage.”  Damned if I really know what it is. I think the smell comes from these little trees. When I get done riding around in the Olds I really feel good! I feel like tearing around the yard and playing Chuckit Ball with Dave, and peeing on lots of stuff.  He got sort of cross with me one time for peeing on the front tire of the Oldsmobile. I don’t do that anymore. I just wanted everyone to know that it was “our car” was all. Dave told me I didn’t have to do that. Okay I won’t. 

Dave doesn’t know I wrote this so I’ll surprise him and post it on my FB page. I might even put it on his blog site.  I hope all you friends of Dave don’t mind reading something from his Doggie Zeph?  

Zephyr Proffitt
Woof, Woof!




Human beings fragile by design.
Skin and bones tendons and muscles entwine.
Red Hair and blue eyes a particular nucleotide.
A chain of amino acids called polypeptides.

The human blueprint from the gene pool.
Gods own wondrous design tool.
Makes us what we are and who we are.
Constituents of some ancient super nova star.

We all come from star dust.
A product from some cosmological trust.
Moving to the music of that cosmological symphony.
Matter and energy degrading in the ultimate state of entropy.

Fragile by design.
Our hearts divine.
Concepts impossible to define.
As betrayal, and trust we recombine.

The heart ever hopeful.
some most dutiful.
Becomes our Achilles Heel.
And our armor of steel.

Deeds, sharp words can topple the human structure.
Love and friendship our tools of restructure.
Human physiology able to generate force in Newton Meters.
Muscles’ pulling on joints the life load teeters.

On your own druthers.
On what we give to others.
The measure of the human spirit.
Acts of generosity, deeds of merit.

All these things upon us fall.
The survivors not so fragile after all.
Materialism, greed, deceit weigh down our souls.
 To our afterlife will take it’s tolls.

To those whose souls are darkened and heavy.
From selfishness and envy.
Are unable to go thru the portal of light.
Unable to make the holy flight.

Weighed down in a quagmire from hell.
Too tarnished and encumbered to tell.
Up from down.
Their moral compass wound round.

Possessions and their Me-First manifesto.
Graffiti plastered in dark frescoes.
Upon some infernal walls.
Somewhere in hells red-litten halls.

And that is the divine balance.
In the Universes own parlance.
You can see it now or later.
Love is the universal translator.

These things we all want to see.
The things we love, the things that flee.
Loved ones we are desperate to hold on to.
No matter how tight manage to slip through.

Our feeble grip on life we try.
To keep them here through tear stained eyes.
Try as we might they vanish at last.
Becoming star dust in light years from the past.

Fragile is the human condition.
A logarithm of cosmic attrition.
From dust to dusts.
 This stellar function does combust.

We see lives blinking in the night sky.
Billions of souls passing by.
So I wonder to myself whence they all came.
From this fragile life and death game.

Dave Proffitt
12:11 am.





The Angel From the Seventh Pew


And so it was that I sat in the dark alone.
The wind through the steeple did whine and moan.
And the sunlight spilled through the stained glass.
Filtered thru reds, green and blues the colors pass. 

Impenetrable shadow pockets in every nook and cranny.
Monocolors in black and whites ghostly and uncanny.
So the hour finds me sitting at the end of pew #6.
The wind whispers “Charon” and flows like the river Styx.

 I like to visit this church of dark shadows.
It’s darkness welcoming and overshadows.
My concerns and fears of the day.
With a holy stillness so silent it will play.

 With my mind and my soul.
Conjures up strange images and takes it’s toll.
Of misinformation, hate, daily strife.
Cutting these down with it’s holy knife.

Where would I be without this place?
This sanctuary for the human case.
A place of returning the soul to grace.
A place that removes the trash of today without a trace.

 So I sit here, thinking, wondering, the fate.
Of friends gone astray as of late.
I wonder what made them that way.
Their loss upon my heart does weigh.

For all the human junkyards we know.
For all the stumbling below.
The line of decency they are under.
Trampled and torn asunder.

 Not able to keep up on their own.
Run over in life’s tow-away zone.
Always needing a hand.
Sometimes more than we can stand.

Sometimes we can’t prop them back upright.
And we can never undo anything wound so tight.
Sometimes I wonder where these lost souls will go.
But most times I’m glad that I don’t know.

 Suddenly the church is filled with a blinding light.
Clouds whirling into this maelstrom dazzling and bright.
And I see this creature with wings thirty feet wide.
Upon it’s arms and legs symbols tattooed like a divine guide.

 It spoke to me in a voice as loud as a thousand suns.
It shook the air inside of me which made my eyes run.
And it said unto me “Be Not Afraid.”
“For you have been weighed.”

 I could see now that it was an angel in the gathering gloom.
His luminance now fleeting within the room.
And upon his personage armor ancient, battered and gray.
The sunlight crossed its spires did play.

Beaming into my eyes like holy pitchforks of the night.
I wondered for my soul and my plight.
He said unto me; “you ponder these lost souls of yours?”
“So I say unto you weep not for their scores.”

 “For they are angels unto the Lord thy God.”
“Unto you I say they are examples of the rod.”
“They are examples of abominations”.
“They have become his retribution”

 “Upon all the wrongdoings done this day.”
“So I speak unto you this way.”
“And so these are the teachers of life.”
“Their numbers have become rife.”

  I said unto him; “why are you here?”
To him I now felt no fear.
So he said to me: “We have seen something different in you.”
“A caring for something so broken and askew.”

I said to him; “and so is it not written?”
“That we are all brothers and some are smitten”.
“Some  struck down in life.”
“And some through no fault of their own?”

 Then he said unto me; “yes you speak the truth.”
“But I cannot explain this forsooth.”
“For this explanation is not up to me.”
“The Lord asks that you just  see.”

“The misery in their suffering.”
“Brought about by their own buffering.”
“Even some not of their own.”
“To those whose
souls have turned to stone.”

“For He wants you to explain this.”
“By your writings and your reminisce.”
“From stories in your past.”
“Of his love will outlast.”

 “ I know you can do this David.”
He said unto me.
So I stood there him and me.
“The Lord loves you for asking of him.”

“The Lord hears not, those that do not.”
“And those that scheme and plot.”
“For those are His examples.”
“They are the bad fruit of no samples.”

 He said unto me; “I will see thee again soon.”
Once again I am alone in the gathering gloom.
I wonder now what just took place.
Then I realize I have an angel with a dark face.

 He’s the angel from the seventh pew.
And I am his spokesperson from me to you.
For all that is and all that ever was.
For that which moves and that which does.

So I write the messages for evermore.
Stories about the seven doors.
Stories about the seven floors.
On and on it rolls forever more.

 Dave Proffitt