Floyd

Floyd

This is another poem about my dog Floyd. Now that he’s four and a bit, Floyd is slightly more mature than his puppy days though he still has his moments even now! There is nothing in the world that Floyd hates more than a shower. He will literally run from the room and hide behind anyone and anything that he thinks will protect him if you even say the word ‘shower’. Yes, it’s safe to say he is not a shower fan, but he will occasionally bring it on himself by engaging in one of his favourite pastimes which is rolling in muck on the common. He enjoys it in the moment, but it’s incredibly frustrating watching it happen and knowing that there’ll be a long and arduous battle to get him into the shower that evening.

Floyd

Floyd’s ears flailed like wind socks
Kicking up rocks as he ran
Deftly slinking by the road blocks
Like an old fox, he began

Though puddles turned his paws brown
Didn’t slow down, kept the pace
His owner, shouting a rude noun
With a small frown, joined the race

Floyd was hurtling round the lakeside
Took a short slide in the mud
Leaping forwards with a great stride
Then a quick glide, then a thud

Landing face first, down he splattered
Still he battered through the dirt
Floyd was unaware it mattered
As he clattered on unhurt

But his owner, flecked with lake swill
Calmly sat still on a log
Muttering, as owner oft’ will
I’m gonna kill that daft dog

Someone may have said the S word

He also just assumes that if anyone says his name, they’re offering him food.

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