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Dog Lover (aka 50 Shades of Greyhound)

I’ve got a bone to pick with you.

If you showed me ONE QUARTER of
the love you show our neighbour’s dog…

I’d be your pet, your pal, your staunch defender,
lick my own bollocks, piss on next door’s gatepost and eat Chappie.

Christ, I’d be happy!

You throw it? I’d catch it – even eat cat-shit,
then race to your face for a deep, probing kiss.

I’d pull sledges and carts… take the blame for your farts…
Just tickle me – there – ’til my back leg goes mad. I’ll be glad!

Think of the fun we could have: the long walks in the woods…
Me, naked except for a chain and a collar with studs.

Look, see? I’m begging, I’m wagging, I’m acting the clown.
I’m tired of dry-humping the cushions, being told to “get down”.

So go on: be my mistress, my owner. I’ll bring you such joy.
(You’ve seen how I lick out a yoghurt-pot, haven’t you? – Oyyy!)

You call, and I’ll come – but I swear, not a moment too soon.
I’ll be so attentive, I’ll make you howl to the moon.

I’ll snuffle your truffle, I’ll hound you, I’ll be a BAD boy…
So – for Blue Peter’s sake, love – give us a tug on me toy?

Ken Cumberlidge has been writing for 40+ years. Recent work can be seen in Algebra Of Owls, Ink Sweat & Tears, The Open Mouse and Snakeskin. Currently he lives in Norwich, where he can be seen muttering and gesticulating in the company of an embarrassed-looking dog. Don’t worry – the dog’s fine.