Man's Best Friend

Man’s Best Friend

Whilst the multicoloured anoraks march,
Like wind-up toys,
Along the well trodden paths,
We take another route.

Pup grins back at me,
Wolfish teeth and wagging tail,
His white fur already thick with mud,
His short legs take the bracken in quick leaps.

As the tarmac fades into the distance,
The going becomes boggier, muddier and wetter.
The air is clearer, sticking to empty lungs,
Absorbed into clean blood.

The granite rocks, warm with ancient memory,
Provide a look out for Pup:
Lord of Brambles,
King of Ferns.

As the grey clouds split with heavy raindrops,
The anoraks peer out of misted windscreens,
Pasty crumbs are stuck to their fingers,
But Pup and I stand against the wind.

Eyes blurred, legs tired, noses cold,
We stand with the heather for a moment
Knowing that a warm fire and blankets
Are just around the corner.