The time and date is:
10:21 am Tuesday, 24 October 2017
* Home

Sections
* Ballads
* Ballad Features
* Burns
* McGonagall
* Other Poetry
* Scottish Writers
* Scots Glossary

Poets
* Alphabetical List
* Featured List

Poems
* List of Topics

Songs
* Scottish Songs
* Modern Songs

Submissions
* Submit a Poem
* Submit a Song

Policies
* Copyright
* Permission
* Privacy
* Standards

Web Links
* Other Sites

Contact
* About Us
* E-mail Us

Don’t lee yir dug wi Danny!(Part 2?) ©

Danny Reynolds
Dalton in Furness, England
2005

Av a wee sad tail(?) tay tell ye,
As Van Gogh wid say, “Lend me yir lug”.
You’ll see why ye canny,
Trust embday called “Danny”,
Specially, tay look efter yir dug!

Al tell yi the second story first,
An hope, if ye laff, ye’ll no burst,
But if yir emotions are swilled up,
Remember this is joost a build up,
The earlier story’s the worst.

The kennels were aw full,
Cept them that wir awful,
“Never mind, joost lee “Foxy” wi us.”
“Go on, pack up yir smalls,
aff ye go, on yir hols.”
Can ye smell it? Aye, that’s misplaced trust!

Noo, how tay describe wee “Foxy”.
His temperament? No exactly placid.
He could jump ten fit walls,
Nay bother at alls,
Part mongrel-part whippet oan acid.

So me an the wife thought,
Let’s get this wan right.
An tay start we wur dayin quite well.
Oan the beach every day,
Oan the lead every night,
Till history repeated itsell.

Ye canny keep yir eye on them, 24/7,
There’s times when ye cut yirsell some slack.
Well, a mean tay say,
Whit damage could it day,
A couple o' hours locked oot the back?

Crash bang wallop!
Whit the hell wiz that?
Fay the noise, ye’d av thought I’d stuck him,
In a tumble-drier wi a cat.

So a ran oot quick, preparin tay feel sick,
Tay be tuthful, he did look a wee bit pale.
That’s when a felt madder,
Cos he’s joost knocked ower a ladder,
Which admittedly, wiz lying on his tail.

I picked up the ladder and gee’d im a wee clap,
And ushered him intay the hoose.
But before a could say it,
He’d started tay spray it,
Fay his tail, he wiz leakin red juice.

“There’s a good boy”, said my wife in her joy.
So his tail started waggin much faster.
There wiz blood on the walls, on the wean’s cuddly dolls,
No tay mention the new kitchen plaster.

So we sorted his tail, and we cleaned up the hoose,
And vowed we’d never again, leave a dug loose,
Back to his owners, he happily went,
Though a couple o' pounds lighter, and his tail wiz aw bent.

You might think this story, wiznay that gory,
But a tolt ye, the first wan’s the worse.
However ye might fear it,
Let me know if ye wanny hear it,
In the prequel, the dug ends up in a hearse!


Web Site by IT-SERVE © 1999 - 2017 All Rights Reserved Return to top