It started wet!
I heard the milk float swishing by at seven.
Oh, never fret…
For dog, just getting soaked is heaven.
The Sun is up,
But rain clings doggedly to darkness still.
Our dawn patrols are growing dank and chill.
The field’s awash
And surface water glitters in the grass.
Dog loves a splash…
That sunbeam came and went as bold as brass.
The spray flies high
As pounding legs fling droplets in the air.
Stub tail is high,
Tongue waving wild – go near him if you dare.
Who dares to say our canine friends can’t smile?
This one can.
A smile miles wide, without a trace of guile.
White socks now black
Liquid mud turning beauty into beast.
Dog paddles back,
Innocence and mischief mingled – what a feast!
Now homeward bound,
Ears cocked, eyes wide, ever spoiling for a fight.
Oh, happy hound.
High stepping, nose quivering, breakfast now in sight.
Syston, November ’94
Eerie quiet follows sudden silenced radio alarm.
I sense the snow,
Cosy still – reluctant yet to rise – so snug and warm.
He’s there, of course!
Dog’s clock is never foxed by weather’s tricks.
I must perforce
Get up or else…proverbial ton of bricks!
A year old pup, he gingerly took stock of that first fall?
New game then!
We laughed until we cried…he had a ball!
He licked it first,
Then tossed fresh nosed-up chunks to left and right.
I thought I’d burst
When he pounced upon a snowdrift – what a fright!
He loves it still.
The joy that lights his eye as each winter glows.
Oh what a thrill!
A child’s delight for us each time it snows.
He ducked when snowflakes fluttered down?
No novice now,
He takes that in his stride – still plays the clown.
He bounds straight out
And charges off to mar the virgin field,
Then turns about
And rushes back to see if I will yield.
I stand my ground.
He leaps towards my out-stretched arms in glee.
I spin around
And miss my footing, falling on one knee.
He lands astride,
Full of fun and game for rough and tumbles any day.
A truce denied.
It’s play or freeze – no fear of growing old this way
Syston, December ‘94