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Poetry
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| Spike | |
| By raskolnikoff | ||||||
| 12 June 2006 | ||||||
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I loved Spike, he was a tan whippet. It's only now that i realise what a good dog he was. I miss him very much. We used to take Spike to the beach to stretch his legs And run on the damp sand while he teased the waves Letting the salty water touch his paws And running away when it splashed his chest. As he got older we lifted him into the car And wound down the window because he loved the air, The sights and sounds, the smell of the country And everything that passed him by. On colder nights he lay by the gas fire Sleeping and panting while his paws twitched Dreaming about chasing the neighbours cat Until the heat became too much and he trundled off To find a cooler spot. We scattered Spike’s ashes in a gusty breeze Across the beach where he used to run, And for the first time we drove home without our friend, Without the window wound down. And I cried when I saw his lead on the table, Cried when I heard his bark Because I lost my friend of many years, I loved my good dog, Spike.
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