The Yorkshire Terrier

Have you ever hated a dog?

Generally, dogs and I get on fine. But a few years ago there was a Yorkshire Terrier that tormented me. There was a street I had to walk down every day, and every day this wretched little dog would rush out of its garden, yapping and howling, always circling to get a bite at my heels. Being a right-thinking person, and constrained by civilisation, I tried not to kick it while dodging it.

But in my head it was quite a different story.

The Yorkshire Terrier

The pavement’s peaceful. No it’s not.
He’s burst out from his skulking spot.
He yaps and howls. He turns and wheels.
I know his target is my heels.

He got me once with needle teeth,
right through my socks, broke skin beneath.
So now I always dodge and hop.
Undignified. This has to stop.

I stoop and scoop the yapping runt,
draw back my foot and then I punt
the snarling scrap high over head.
It lands far off, it might be dead.

But that’s a dream. The morning comes.
He’s lurking with his slobbery gums.