THE BRYHER CHRONICLES
Bryher
What a beautiful boy you are, you are
What a beautiful boy you are.
You can’t drive a car
Nor buy drinks at the bar,
But you run very fast
And you roam very far.
What a beautiful boy you are, Bryher,
What a beautiful boy you are.
What a beautiful boy you are, you are
What a beautiful boy you are.
You’re not up yourself
And you’re not la–di--da,
But you climbed up a tree
And your paw bears a scar.
What a beautiful boy you are, Bryher,
What a beautiful boy you are.
What a beautiful boy you are, you are
What a beautiful boy you are.
Jim is your brother,
But you don’t know your Ma,
You can open some doors
But then leave them ajar.
What a beautiful boy you are, Bryher,
What a beautiful boy you are.
What a beautiful boy you are, you are
What a beautiful boy you are.
Your chest bears a white blaze
Which makes you a star,
And a rabbit or cat
Makes you bark a hoorah,
While you chase them around
For their final Ta-ra,
Letting you get too close
Is their final faux-pas!
What a beautiful boy you are, Bryher,
What a beautiful boy you are.
Yuppy Puppy
(ON MY 54th BIRTHDAY)
The Dog who climbed a tree and came down 218 pounds lighter!
In bath-time tales
My father used to tell,
I walked in woods
Accompanied by swirl and steam
And slap of flannel,
Talking to trees.
Repeating history
On sodden land,
In watering skies
We took a walk
Within the Selhurst woods.
Sloshing in recent rain,
Cutting across the coppiced land,
Following deer tracks.
A yew tree stands,
Obliging the middle-aged
Chimp who must recover
Some zest of youth,
So climbs the easy branches
And mimics a monkey.
Bryher the dog
Is not amused,
And barking wildly,
Frantic with fear
Of separation and
Irked by simian hints
Of adroit digits and
Taunting heights,
Begins to climb.
37 kilos of black
Labrador, in his prime
Begins to climb,
And four feet
Then five then six
Chasing the monkey mime
Then higher,
Before he yelps!
His paw is pierced
By a sharp branch.
Off to the vet and
After anaesthetic
An op, and overnight
He’s better, for a hefty fee.
Liza said 218 pounds
And a dogs bootee,
Was almost worth it
In January,
To see a black lab
Climb an old yew tree!
Claire’s thirty winks
Were you the canine culprit,
Who woke the sleeping Claire?
She came to the door, all dazed with sleep
And wasn’t quite all there.
She hadn’t really been herself,
She wasn’t feeling well,
So early home she’d come from work
And lain down for a spell.
And then, a thud, a bang, a knock,
An outside interruption,
Dragged her from her lovely snooze –
It was a tail’s eruption!
Oh naughty Bryher, oh lovely dog,
Whose tail thumped on Claire’s door!
It was your happy end that meant
Poor Claire could sleep no more!
On your behalf I wrote this verse
To help poor Claire feel better.
She likes you, quiet and gentle dog;
Thank God you’re not a setter!
THUNDERPAWS
Bryher is thunderpaws
When he bounds up the stairs
In the morning ritual greeting.
I’m thinking of children’s films,
Gleeful dogs to the rescue
With shining eyes
And sloppy tongues,
Nosing out missing youngsters
From brush and bush
Or buried in the snow,
Wagging tails for happy endings,
Snuffling away our fright,
Healthy wet noses
Contrasted with warm fur.
Bryher is black motion
Upon the drifting snow,
On winter days his breath
Is dark dawn’s heating.
Bryher is thunderpaws
Thrumming on the turf
Of Beacon Hill or Didling Down
Quartering the miles
For slot of deer
And spoor of fox, and not
Forgetting thrilling rabbit!
Chase makes for life
Outruns his training’s habit.
I walk straight lines,
He runs a search grid,
Segments of scentual delight,
Head down, tail bravely out
Expert in vigorous zeal,
Eager in vectors.
Bryher is thunderpaws
Wading in Witterings surf
Or by Dell Quay’s marina,
Leaping in shallow waves
And forcing the water
With fearless buoyant chest.
No stick or ball
Will beat his keen attention!
He has no words,
Yet he is voluble.
His sounds are speaking,
Sharp and relevant,
A yawn of meaning and enjoyment
A yip of hunting and deployment
A grunt of need of some employment.
As specimen of much loved canine race
I sometimes see beneath
A wolf within his face.
Bryher is thunderpaws,
With wildness
Clothed in grace.
