Read by Lucy Jackson

Also, Listen to Loz-Ann McCarthys song rendition of the poem below.

Most of us who have loved and lost a dog feel at times
that somewhere, somehow, they are still around.

We are the ghost dogs
We stand by the wall
We wait in the shadows
And come when you call …
I saw your face in a cloud
So clear it was I laughed
I laughed aloud.
Come back to me, dear one.
I need you, please stay
But as I watched – you faded away.
For we are the ghost dogs
We stand by the wall
We wait in the shadows
And come when you call …
I felt you close at my side
So warm you were – I cried
I cried aloud
Don’t leave me dear one
I’m sick – please don’t go.
I put out my hand – and felt it grow cold.
We are the ghost dogs
We stand by the wall
We wait in the shadows
And come when you call …
I heard you jump on your chair
So clear the sound – I knew
I knew at once you were near
Stay with me, dear one
I’m sad and I fear
But when I looked round – no-one was there.
For we are the ghost dogs
We stand by the wall
We wait in the shadows
And come when you call …

Read by Lucy Jackson

I see no point in a walk without a dog.
Like a play with no plot, music without song.
Yet I want no lofty thoughts to pierce the fog
Of my mind’s muddle as I trudge along.
I like to be amused and look around
And feel the constant irritation of a dog
It saves the need for projects more profound.
“Leave it you fool – I’ll never lift that log
For you to chase. Come here for heaven’s sake.
He’s bigger than you. Don’t tug, sit down, now lie.”
This is enough. No words of love or fate.
No gasping at the beauty of the sky.
For we are friends – between us there’s no vanity.
And therein rests my joy, my peace, my sanity.

Read by Lucy Jackson

I dislike people who dislike dogs
Especially when they tut about clean carpets
Or worse . . . their love of books, Mankind,
Planet Earth, the Universe and, ah yes,
Life’s overriding sorrow.
They imply, of course, that I live in a burrow,
Am illiterate, barbarous and surely
Malodorous . . . simply because I love dogs.
I’m seized by a desire to tease
And thunder on about their “animal within”
And the “vital force of canine energy”.
They look anxious . . . is this
Some new gizmo they’ve missed?

I launch into the gene chains of our
Dear brother apes . . . and hyenas . . .
and . . . and . . . coelacanths
And toss around new found statistics . . .
The logistics of too many humans.
They begin to sway.
“So sorry . . . we’re just on our way
Hope we meet again . . . some day.
She’s actually quite mad,” they say!

Read by Gayle Hunnicut

Stillness – and a summer day, too warm for walking
But the cliff paths call and the dogs are ecstatic.
I, too, am intrigued – drawn back to a once familiar scene.
Those flowers – swathes of blue scabious, sweet thistle, ragwort, mignonette
And twisted trees that shape the wind’s direction.
“There’s Beachy Head,” I say aloud and catch my breath
– Measuring the might of stark white cliffs that thunder to the sea.
“Keep away from the edge, you two,” I call, laughing to see
Them cavalry charge the scattering rabbits, braving the
Nettles in hectic pursuit.
That barking – is it still the same?
Pausing to listen I hear a shadow sound.
Five years ago it was another pair that barked and ran,
Flinging their joy into the summer air.
I tremble now, ice cold and sick with sudden grief.
Why is the wind so still – why so dark the sky?
Is this some gap in passing time – or the way we begin to die?
Brown faces appear through the long silver grass.
What’s up? Come on – we’re here – we’re not lost.
They stand – waiting – watchful – sensing the distance
Between us, heads held high.
“Mother are you weeping?” they ask with anxious eyes …

Read by Jeanette Sterk

How is it you’re so sweet
When you’re asleep?
I must have been mistaken when all
Those things became … mis-shapen.
Impossible that you could ‘do in’ a shoe …
In a minute or two.
And how about my dress …
And those shreds that were a vest …
Was that you?
Best stay asleep … for you do look so sweet,
And I’ll suspend my belief that you’re a little beast
And we’ll all have some peace …
For this moment, at least!

Read by Jeanette Sterk

We’ve a baby in the house
That’s what they call her “Baby baby”.
You can hardly see her . . . just a tiny face.
We peer at her transfixed . . .unable to move away
Don’t lick her . . .don’t lick, they say.
But we are bewitched, awestruck, waiting and watching her
Sleep and wake.
We’ve a baby in the house.
We’re thrilled . . . sitting up she smiles and squeals.
Reaching out to us with busy hands and feet
Glowing, trembling with love we receive our first embrace.
Mind her face, they say, mind her face.
But we stand mute, amazed
Enchanted … enslaved.

Read by Jeanette Sterk

Our mum has a scooter.
It’s so embarrassing.
Everyone stops to talk
And ask where she bought the thing.
At first we tried to pull her off
But she insisted . . . so we had to give in.
Now we run like the wind all round her
And need to keep watching
For she can disappear rather fast
And sometimes falls off!
And we have to help.
Why can’t she just walk?

Read by Jeanette Sterk

and especially Tessie and Nonny who happen to be puppies

If it were not for you
I’d do the things I’m supposed to do
Like tidying my clothes, my shoes, my desk
My pots and pans and all the rest
And every other thing I possess.
Instead of which we play and cuddle
And snuzzle and nuzzle
And I jump about and pretend I’m a bear
And squeak like a bird.
It’s quite absurd.
I can’t resist this puppy charm
So now another hour has gone.

Read by Jeanette Sterk

The dogs are here
We come each year to the War Memorial
Wearing our poppies.
“Their forebears served in the trenches”I say, several times, very loudly.
I do wish they’d stand still and look gallant
Instead of scrubbling for crumbs and chewing gum stuck to the pavement
They peer around hoping to spot a chum
They do love a crowd
But when the bugle sounds
We are silent
And I, a wartime child, remembering the Dead
Bend over their heads
To bury my grief in their dancing eyes.

Read by Jeanette Sterk

You’ve bombed every picnic
No pram could we pass.
You’ve chatted up lovers
Asleep on the grass.
You’ve played rounders and rugby
And chased every hound.
You wrestled a footballer into the ground.
Is there anything else you could possibly do?
Now that I’ve caught you
You’re coming home too.