Walkies Time

B’ffy black dog waits,
Grey day,
Wet day notwithstanding.
Alert, his head rests
Light upon his mat.
He watches,
Eyes close
To where his master’s doing
All he does each day,
Each way he punctuates
The coming of his time
To grasp the lead;
A morning moment
As urgent
As the evening feed.

At last!
Acceptance of the bursting need
To pee and play,
To introduce the day,
To let the air display
Its blasting scent,
Rushing through the door
To tell what life is all about;
Who’s been around,
Who’s in
And who is out.

The man and dog all know their parts.
Man takes the lead,
Attaches to the eager restless dog
Who whines complaint
As muddy weary boots are dragged
‘cross human feet;
Whines at the desultory progress
Of his treat,
Pushes at the door
In case it won’t resist,
Patters on the tiles in circles
Just to make a start,
Grabs the lead and dribbles
As he pleads for speed,
Until at last the light
Beneath the scratched and battered
Outside door,
Starts to move across the floor.

Let out
Like balloons released,
Lead, man and beast
Cannon out
Into the atmospheric feast,
The flash of colour,
Swishing branch and leaf,
Scudding cloud
And ocean waves so loud
And frothy foamed,
They batter sense and matter,
Scatter birds
And chase
The walkers down the beach