A recent prompt for the 12-poems-in-12-months challenge was to include rhyme, alliteration and assonance.
I wrote mine about an event that has also been the subject of a blog post here.
Digger Dog
Digger the dog was a pesky pup, After six mad months, her owners despaired. We’d just lost a dog, so we called them up and took on this terrier, scruffy white-haired. Would she be too lively for our other dog? who'd aged since her friend died and left her alone. But they soon set up doggy dialogue and started to play… So we took her home.
Chinese crested cur crossed with a jumping Jack Russell And bold Border terrier: crazy cocktail. When both dogs engaged in a tug-of-war tussle her feathered tail, flag-like, would frolic and flail. Yappily happily playing together, Larking, and barking on hearing their names. Scattily, battily scampering, whether in get-the-rat chases or growly games. Itchy or twitchy? We thought she was jittery, combed out her coat, and I kept it well-trimmed. We thought no more of it; she always was skittery. Was it a symptom, those fidgety limbs? Or was it that tractor, all afternoon grumbling, Spraying the crops in the neighbouring field? But the tractor sprayed crops before: harmlessly rumbling. The farmer would say if we needed to shield.
Diggs threw up and started a terrible tic-ing. A puddle appeared and her brown eyes met mine. “What’s happening, Mum?” Now both back legs were kicking. Her furry friend watched with a whimpering whine. I crooned mindless, soothing sounds on that last ride, in the back of the car as she panted and writhed. At the vet’s she lay twitching, though drugged but still terrified. I stroked her damp pelt as our little dog died. No canine cacophony marked our return. Old dog seemed to know she was once more alone. Our neighbour’s young daughter put out a bright lantern that night by our door, to light Digger’s way home. Night screeches are common in fields hereabout. Owls hoot. Vixens shriek out a mating call. Come morning, the lamp on our doorstep was out, and the old dog was wagging her tail in the hall.
Writing Wrinkles, and Random Ramblings 
I remember Digger, a great dog.
Their departure always leaves a far bigger hole than we could ever imagine.
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Especially when it is so unexpected.
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A great little dog.
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A one-off – like all crossbreeds. She didn’t quite make it to four years old.
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I’m not a doggie person but this really moved me.
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That wasn’t a good weekend all round. Hubby had just had his heart op postponed the Friday before due to lack of intensive care beds.
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Awww…😥💕
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Awww, that raised a variety of emotions x
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Next door’s daughter’s insistence on her dad putting out a lamp (it wasn’t long after Halloween) so that Digger could find her way home really got to me.
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Lovely poem, Cathy. Every one of our pets leaves a heart-shaped hole in our lives.
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They do – some more than others.
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I loved how well you responded to the challenge. Each works alone, but together they make a compelling patchwork quilt.
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Thanks. Somehow when the prompt is assonance I immediately think of yapping and yowling. I’ve been surrounded by dogs too long!
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what a shame, for both dogs. and their owners…
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It was sad. Pickle had bonded well with Digger, in spite of our initial fears that she’d be too lively for the arthritic old girl. (Pickle was 15 when Digger died.) A favourite game consisted of both dogs rolling on their backs and nudging each other with their noses.
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sounds like a great friendship…
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