My beloved dog


When everything was turning dark and the fog moved in,

I was sitting on that nostalgic bench

In that garden that is always in my dreams,

Listening to that delicious crackling of the

Tobacco and cheap rizzla

Catching flame.


His stark white fur emerged from the black,

He approached me,

The rebel fourteen year old girl that I was,

With such confidence.

Without a hint of self-consciousness,

Something that was alien to me and my changing body.

Without a hint of arrogance,

Something that was alien to my male human peers.


He embodied, in that moment, simple perfection,


Unlike everything else in my teenage life.


He casually leapt on to the old bench,

Which he knew was forbidden fruits,

Mirroring my ‘rules-smules’ attitude,

Making me proud in the depths of my stomach.


He sat adjacent to me,

Backs against the wooden panels,

Profiles aligned,

His snout longer than mine but

Both looking out to the tadpole infested pond.


I turned to him, my beloved,

And confessed to him in a smoky whisper,

‘You are best friend’.

He smiled as if to say ‘I know’,

And lay his soft white head on my lap.


I breathed the smoke out,

Back into the fog where it belonged,

And the feel of his head

On my lap never left me.