Walking the Dog

Walking the dog under a marbled sky,
No-one about, just Maggie and I.
I look to the left and then to my right,
Notice the onset of diminishing light.
Clouds threaten yonder, heading our way,
Thunder expected later today.
Trotting beside me, her tail all aquiver,
A chill on the air now makes me shiver,
Her nose to the ground, she’s off like a shot,
Searching out pheasant or things long forgot.
She’s older, no wiser, loves the thrill of the chase,
Comes panting to me, a grin on her face.
She’ll pay for it later, become stiff and sore,
Slower than yesterday, and the day before.
Age doesn’t become her, her fur’s turning grey,
But she still loves her walks, four or five times a day.
Rumbles in the distance, anger in the sky,
We retrace our steps and are soon home and dry.
Photo: 2008 at the cottage.
Photo: Jan 2017


About pensitivity101

I am a retired number cruncher with a vivid imagination which extends to short stories and poetry. I love to cook and have a terrible sweet tooth. Best friends are Hubby, our dog Maggie, Bro in NZ, MSM and MOH (and his dog). I am also a bit of a dog whisperer as I get on better with them than people sometimes! Due to a nightmare of a house sale in 2014, 'Home' was a 41 foot narrow boat until April 2017. We made strong friendships both on and off the water, and enjoyed swan and duck families for neighbours. Sadly times change and we were once again house hunting until September. We now reside in a small bungalow a short distance from the beach on the Lincolnshire coast.
This entry was posted in Dogs, Maggie, Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s