Instead of doing some real work I found myself speculating upon and waxing lyrical about the love lives of dogs. Yes, very evidently spending way too much time in their company … and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Four Car Fleabag
Scurrilous mongrel from Four Car Manor,
Thinks she’s best in breed in that blinkin’ bandanna.
Beaten us to the woods three days on the trot,
Legs won’t leave house til’ there’s no coffee in the pot.
I sneeze in her ear, she just says “God Bless You”,
What am I? Some poncy little shih-Tzu?
The war of wills: staring and sighing
Isn’t love – devoted and undying.
GET UP, GET UP! Must beat that terrier,
Oh, why can’t Legs suffer insomnia.
Now on the trail of Four Car Fleabag,
But Legs has to stop for another chinwag,
“Who’s this walk for?” I often ponder,
Oooh! Goody, there’s the pond yonder.
Scattering ducks with my belly-flop entry.
A swim, a shake and straight to the forestry.
A roll in fresh fox poo, a chase with a rabbit.
Not out of malice, more out of habit.
Stop dead! What’s that? Scent vaguely familiar.
Four Car Fleabag at a spaniel’s paraphernalia.
My name’s in the air but a feeling is rising,
Not unpleasant but a wee bit surprising.
What is it today with that stuck-up mutt?
Why’s her tail in the air? Has she had a new haircut?
The spaniel’s scampered. Is that a … ‘come on’?
Fleabag’s looking a bit, what’s that word … wanton? (cue groan)
Oh, that scent! Our names float above us,
It’s too late, by now we’re oblivious.
I’m confused yet turned on. She’s usually the enemy.
Today she’s yer regular canine Salome,
Legs is running – it’s now or never,
Before they’re upon us to dampen our fervour,
No time to think. Who cares what the reason.
Put it down to the month … or maybe the season!