[Martin Elster]

The Old Dumbo Dog

I have a dumbo dog in mind. His name is Dannyanyspot.
His coat is of the shedding kind, especially when the weather’s hot.
Though he is brushed nine times per day, it’s on the rug, the couch, the bed.
At night I sneeze and sneeze a lot
And have congestion in my head,
Have congestion in my head.

But ... when filtering light proclaims day has begun,
He runs out the door for a day of warm sun
And some fun in the fields with the woodchuck and duck,
And he snacks on the grass and he rolls in the muck.
He is deeply concerned with the ways of the squirrels,
Who have nothing to do but chew nuts. So he hurls
Himself at those bums; then, dog-tired, comes back
To shed more of that mop, of which there is no lack.

[Martin Elster]

O’Dwyer, a great giant of a dog that guards the castle,
Thinks growling at intruders is just too much of a hassle.
When burglars make it past the moat and, somehow, through the door,
O’Dwyer drools, expecting there’s a toothsome treat in store.

When big O’Dwyer hears her name being called by her kind master,
She either wanders off or, sometimes, walks directly past her.
She often gazes out the window for a nice housebreaker
With whom she’d love to gallivant, if only he would take her.

They bring a plate of cheeses and a good array of meats
And carry off the jewels, TV, and money while she eats.
She’d let you carry her off, too, if you could pick her up,
But she was a behemoth even when she was a pup.

O’Dwyer, big O’Dwyer, she’s so proud to be of service.
If you aspire to be a thief, go visit. Don’t be nervous!
I’ve dropped in on her many times. I’m loved by big O’Dwyer.
Oh, go ahead, make friends with her. Just bring some treats. Go try her!

[Roger Slater]

I just saw a link indicating that the Spectator ran the identical contest back in 2001.

See http://www.accessmylibrary.com/artic...try-brief.html

PS--

I managed to use a library card to access the entire article! One of the winners back then was Bazza, whose first line was "Bollocky dogs are squat and short."

The other winners were G.M. Davis ("O'Hennessy's a sorry dog, he's called the Bloodshot Eye"), MS Williams, WJ Webster, and Aaron Agee.

[John Whitworth]

Lucy wasn't there in them days. It was old Jaspistos aka James Michie. I think Bazza's line is absolute genius.

[Susan McLean]

Walking the Human

Some days they’re tired and have to be invited.
If they suggest it, try to seem excited.
Though they don’t seem to mind being confined,
they need fresh air and contact with their kind.
Don’t yank their leash hard when they stop to greet
others with friendly barking as they meet.
And if the weather’s not what you’d have chosen--
your coat is sopping or your paws are frozen--
there’s nothing a brisk walk cannot put right,
making their cheeks more pink, their eyes more bright.
They seldom get the exercise they should,
so walk them every day. It does them good.

[Martin Elster]

I like your poem, Susan.

If your dog is fat, you aren't getting enough exercise.

John,

I'm planning to send in some dog poems soon. How many do you think I should put into one e-mail? Also, do you think I should send only the ones that are in TSE's style, or include others which are in my own style?

Martin

[Marion Shore]

Call of the Wild

Scotty's a suburban dog.
He has it all, you'd say:
A comfy house, a great big yard,
two kids who love to play.
He goes out riding in the car,
takes long walks in the park;
he knows he is one lucky dog.
But sometimes when it's dark
he hears a wild and haunting cry,
like some forgotten tune,
and goes out on the perfect lawn
and howls up at the moon.

[Roger Slater]

Good one, Marion. I'm not sophisticated, though, so "and craps beneath the moon" would be my bow to crudity if the poem were mine.

A quick one I don't think I'll enter:

Stubborn Mike

There was a stubborn dog named Mike
That proper dogs were nothing like.
A proper dog, when told to sit,
Will sit. He doesn't mind a bit.
But Mike would hear that same command
And howl, "I much prefer to stand."
And if you ordered Mike to heel,
He'd yelp, "That has no great appeal."
No matter what you said to do,
Mike would sputter, "Yeah? Says who?"
Poor Mike. Poor Mike. He met defeat
The day his owner told him, "Eat!"
"Don't treat me like a slave or kid!
I'd rather die!" And so he did.

[Martin Elster]

Chester’s Heavenly Feast

Where once there was a moon, now there is only empty space
And twinkling specks. A dog named Chester stuffed his wolfish face
With all that cheese (I mean the moon). One starry summer night,
His master, through a telescope, was gazing at the bright

And dazzling objects overhead, while Chester’s eyes saw motion —
But not behind the hedges, trees, or in the meadow’s ocean
Of grass and weeds and flowers; what he saw was the full moon
Now rising in the east. He leaped and snatched the fat balloon

And shook it till it gasped its last. Then Chester had a feast,
The yummiest one ever. The pale orange, rotund beast
Normally moved unhurriedly and never thought a day
Would come when she’d be plucked like a plump grape and put away

By a mangy mutt. Yet, he not only lives to tunes digestial,
That dog, like master, also lives by melodies celestial;
And, thus, combines his predilection for things gastronomical
With hobbies and pursuits that you might label astronomical.

[Allen Tice]

On, Spot, on!!