Freya does tend to pong a bit,
A Labrador’s coat is … oily,
And she’s a voracious snacker,
First the cake and then the doily.
Pigeons drive her round the bend,
She never learns … not to bother,
Her hackles go through the roof,
And the windows turn to slobber.
She has an inbuilt time-clock,
Dinner and breakfast are key,
With scant regard for hang-overs,
Or anything that affects me.
No trips to the poodle parlour,
Freya simply sheds her excess fluff,
You could make another Labrador,
With one-hoover of that stuff.
She is well over 25 kilos now,
But she still curls up on my lap,
Or stretches out on top of Jed,
When he’s having a sneaky nap.
When I’m trying to watch Strictly,
She blocks the television screen,
It’s a ploy to grab my attention …
She doesn’t know Craig is mean.
Then, if by chance, the telly flips
to a classical music review,
She sits bolt upright … all ears,
Pop and rock … simply won’t do.
She’s great pals with the postman,
But DPD .. not so much,
They hurl the parcels over the gate,
And Freya eats them for her lunch.
Playing ball is her grand passion,
She’s quite impressive in the air,
But only gives the first ball back,
If I’m about to throw the spare.
She’s been known to catch a bunny,
Which sends me screaming-mad,
I’m surprised … you haven’t heard me,
But suspect you’re … rather glad.
Her drool is beyond excessive …
She’s clearly a drama Queen,
Bears no resemblance to her owner,
I have no idea … what you mean …
I am just a bit on the tired side …
On account of my lack of sleep,
Labradors don’t do lie ins so
It is pointless counting sheep.
Pam Ski
We love receiving your poetry and print a selection every week. Email yours to [email protected] and we’ll do the rest
