Thinking of Dogs

Thats a lot of dogs!

That's a lot of dogs!

“Thinking of Dogs”

Sometimes when I think of dogs
I forget their names and picture frogs.
I’m sure there’s one called Stan
All big and black, belongs to Fran.
And then there’s Rover
Likes to bite, so don’t bend over!
Of course, we all know Andy,
The three legged Cocker-Randy.
And wee little Flo,
A Picanese with bits to show.
But then when I think of dogs
Or frogs or logs or smelly warthogs
My thoughts always stray
To a special place, a special day.
A Labrador puppy named Kyle,
My best mate Steve, a farm and a style.
Into the fields of corn we ran,
We three, like Sancho Panza, man!
Through the wheat, the wind up high,
Kyle’s barking, Steve’s cry…
The Combine Harvester, so fast,
Looming over me, breathing my last.
Then Kyle’s bark and wild leap,
My tumble, my fall into a heap.
The sound of squelching…
Melching…
Munching…
Crunching…
Yelping…
Barking…no more!
So now I think of dogs,
Sometimes frogs but rarely bogs.
And I think sometimes of Kyle,
Who died a death of some style.
And when I eat my bowl of cornflakes,
I hear the scream, I hear the brakes,
And I always make sure to look close,
For a bit of paw or maybe some nose!

N.B. You can hear “Thinking of Dogs” read by Radio 4 legend John Waite by clicking on the POETRY AUDIO widget at the top right of this page.

I Knew This Incredibly Large Dog

S&M Masks For Kinky Dogs!

S&M Masks For Kinky Dogs!

“I Knew This Incredibly Large Dog!”
His name was Bert, or Dave, or maybe Rover
No that was the car I’m sure that he drove her
In when they came as a couple, over for tea
Just me and her and him and she.
“My, what a large nose,” exclaimed Marjorie one day
As Bert (or was it Dave) licked his bits where he lay
It was true, but nothing to the length of his lick
Or his mighty prodigious gargantuan prick.
Then one eve the invite arrived on the mat
“Bring two chairs, a chicken, some wine and a hat”
So we jumped in our oversized Bulgarian car
And sauntered on over, it wasn’t too far.
There was Dave (or was it Bert) in his smoking cravat
And suspended in wicker his dear lady sat
Trussed up all in leather and dripping with oils
I thanked god that last year she’d surgically removed all the boils.
“What is this malarkey,” I cried with aplomb
Or was it a raspberry, or apple or cum-
quat…Our host rose to all fours and shouted out loud
“We’re swingers, dear chap, and of it we’re proud!”
Well, Marjorie was quite taken shy with the shock
And I, made or stouter stuff, looked fast at the clock
And made our excuses, “Bridge club at ten!”
We raced off and never spoke of the event again.
Except for that one time when home from work came I
To a Marjorie all trussed up in leather not shy
Of the fact that her mendips were touching the floor
And for days after the fact that her cloots would be sore.
I still see old Bert, no I’m sure he’s called Ron
Down at the station, our friendship is gone
But I have to admit to the world and pen in my log
That he is quite the most incredibly large S&M dog!

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