Peacock Envy

Oh, good grief, he's doing it again,
Flapping about like a lunatic on crack,
Right in the middle of me telling him
How mortgage repayments have gone up.

He’s such a show-off, that pea-cock.

I never realised it before,

You know, but he only does it

When the cameras

Come out. Performing clown.

I’m sure he never, ever listens to me.

Like the time I told him Royal Mail

Lost that cheque in the post,

Or when my car failed its MOT. Nothing.

Just prunes and puffs, puffs and prunes.

A broken record,

A really dull broken record,

Not the sort of record you don’t mind

Skipping because you like all the bits anyway.

Your oohs and aahs have really

Gone to that minuscule head of his.

Look at it! It’s tiny! It’s like a teaspoon

Sitting on a big blue pear.

Anyway, they don’t know this, but he’s moulting.

I found some of those gaudy feathers behind

The old oak. And the other day I heard him

Behind the holly bush, sniffling and

Crying because he’d found a grey one.

I could totally get the attention,

If I wanted it.

Not that I do.

I just need a lick of paint.

Pondering

I wonder why the world is round, I wonder why sky’s blue,

I wonder why I know when someone’s cooking chicken stew.

I’d like to know the reason for the postman coming to knock,

Or why I’m fond of chewing nice clean pants and bright white socks.

I wonder where they go when they say “Bye, Daisy! Be back soon!”

And why I get a walk at 9am, and one at noon.

I don’t know why I find it hard to tread the basement stairs,

Or why it is my eyes and ears and nostrils come in pairs.

I like the piano playing but I hate it when they shout,

I wonder why I’m edgy when there’s no one in the house.

I can bear the sound of boiling water and of popping toast,

But if the front doorbell should ring, I lose my freaking loaf.

I don’t mind little people - no, I simply find them odd -

But do I ever hate tall men and their big wiry bods.

The dog next door’s a terror but I really love our cat,

We sit and watch the world revolve, on our front door mat.

I’m curious about so very many splendid things,

Like what on earth a telephone is, and why the hell it rings.

And why I have to wee outside, even when it’s cold,

And why I have to ‘sit’ and ‘lie down’. Man, that’s getting old.

It’s strange that no one’s thought to ask me for my own opinion,

I’d rather like to have a glass of red and a discussion

About the wondrous things in life and why it’s all so funny,

But just right now I’d like someone to come and scratch my tummy.

Journeys

No one tells me anything,

No one gives a hoot.

They haul me out of cosy bed

And plop me in the boot.

“Come on, Daisy, off we go,”

They whistle down the stairs.

I’m never told the journey time.

I’m just so unawares

Of where we’re heading, and how long

It takes us to get there -

I’d like to know if I have time

To brush my tangled hair.

They never give me books to read

(And I can’t reach the shelf),

I tried to download MP3’s but

It’s too tough to do myself

(The buttons are so fiddly on

Those dratted small machines),

You’d think they’d shove a toy back here

Or just some magazines.

I get a bowl of water

But I’d really like some tea -

And not that heinous PG Tips!

I’m a Lapsang Souchong girl, you see.

Please leave the bag in longer

Than you would do for yourself;

I have a robust palate, ya,

Plus, tea’s good for my health.

I drink it daily before five,

That’s when I switch to port

Which I have with my cheese and bread,

I do adore Roquefort.

Now, you can tell I’m quite complex,

I’m just no two-bit mutt.

I therefore don’t appreciate you

Treating me as such.

So please, next time you have to drag me

Off inside the car,

Furnish me with info:

Where we’re going, why, and how far.

It’s not too much to ask, I feel,

That I am told some facts.

It’s quite important, don’t you see,

So that I know which friends to text

To let them know I’m on my way

Or that I’ll be back soon.

I may already have lunch plans -

A no-show would just be too rude!

And, next time when you yank me out of bed

Into the car...

But wait, what’s this? Oh, joy of joys!

Oh, Man! We’re at the park!

The Family Who Cried Walkies

“Walkies, Daisy! Walkies!” they cry,

But do not believe them, it's surely a lie.

It’ll be hours before we reach the park,

And if we do get there, it’ll be dark.

I don’t think they mean to be ever so daft;

It’s the way that they’re programmed, the way that they are.

And nothing I do now will change things a jot.

This is my fate, this is my lot.

The problem we have is just one of the mind

(Not one which signals they’re being unkind):

They call out my name then remember they’ve left

A cake in the oven, a shirt in the press,

The hoover on auto, the phone off the hook,

They’ve spilled all their Coco Pops over a book.

They haven’t got shoes on or can’t find their hat,

They trip over carpets and step on the cat.

They need a quick coffee - they’re still half asleep -

They fumble around for my packet of treats.

And don't get me started on finding the keys!

(Or losing the car and calling the police.)

We finally leave but we're back in just two

When someone realises they need the loo;

They’ll take an umbrella in case it should rain -

Sometimes I think this is all just a game

Which I don’t find funny - am I missing a trick?

Really, this game is a pain in the neck.

I lie here and wait, so patient at first,

Gradually my bladder threatens to burst.

And just when I think that we’re ready to split

Along comes the doorbell. This is the pits.

The visitor usually stays for a while

And everyone (bar me) is giggles and smiles.

If they only could see my face under the fur

And see that my lip is beginning to curl.

I won’t let it bug me or mess with my head.

Though later, I swear, I will crap in their beds.

Twins

Tied and bound outside Waitrose,

Why I’m here, nobody knows.

But right behind me, tied beside

My lead, I look into some eyes

I recognise, some eyes I know!

And, lo, I think I know that nose

As well, it’s black and damp like mine,

My Lord, a touch of luck sublime!

Who is this creature just like me?

What is, why is, how is she?

Her name is Poppy (says the tag)

I lift my tail and start to wag.

With all this joy, I’m fit to burst,

I’d better just say hello first.

I cough and clear my throat to say:

“My name is Daisy. To you, good day.”

Poppy nods in my direction

But doesn’t proffer introduction.

Instead she turns away from me

And gazes, blankly, at a tree.

I pull my lead ‘til it is taut

And march around the big food court

So I am level with her head

And then repeat what I’d just said:

“My name is Daisy, did I stutter?

This is where you offer up a

Name yourself, you sulky pup.

What’s wrong? Will you please just cheer up?

You give us Westies awful press

By being moody and depressed.

It’s not so tough to smile and woof

And give a courteous little sniff.

Try it once, I bet you’ll see

That being affable like me

Will get you far in this tough life

So full of misery and strife.”

On the mention of that word

My twin spun 'round about so hard

And glared my way with dagger eyes

But what came out was a surprise:

“Disculpame, no hablo Ingles,

No puedo entender lo que dices.

Quizas dilo a mi madre cuando

Regressa del supermercado?”

Oh dear, gasped I, a Spanish pooch,

I was so blind in my approach!

I was too quick to criticise

A foreigner who’s probably nice!

I crouched down on four bended knees

And stuttered forth apologies,

I begged forgiveness and all that

Man, I felt a proper twat.

Poppy stood and stared at me,

Wholly uncomprehendingly.

On occasion she just shrugged,

Looked bored - as if she had been drugged.

Eventually Mum came out

Unhooked then swivelled me about.

She turned us back towards the car

(Which, happily, was not parked far).

I strained my neck to say bye-bye

And out the corner of my eye

I heard a very British grunt -

I’d swear la Poppy whispered…something awfully rude.