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.