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March 26, 2016



Oh Daisy, Daisy,

Daisy true.

My constant companion,

how I loved you.


And still do now

although you’re gone.

Oh Daisy, Daisy;

my sun that shone.


Oh Daisy, Daisy,

always on my mind.

Two decades of trust,

and love combined.


From a tiny kitten

into a cat you grew.

I knew the meaning

of your every mew.


Oh Daisy, Daisy,

today my heart aches.

No familiar routine,

as daylight breaks.


Your spirit always here;

your presence lingers on.

Of all the animals I’ve loved,

Daisy – you were number one.


 ( A poem for Jean)


Written by Harriet Blackbury.

September 2015




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March 25, 2016



And rich green pastures seen all around,

thankfully, by climate change unaffected.

And Easter goslings on view leaving the nest –

the cutest one with a white vest detected.


And around the corner, the same black lab,

still sat on his trampoline, smelling the air;

a bit of a celebrity, though quite unaware.

His bold head thrown back, without a care!


And young lambs happily gambolling

beneath the Cotswold Hills,

and the Racing fraternity still talking,

of this years Festival thrills.





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October 7, 2015



I haven’t looked

but I know he’s there.

I sense his presence;

his out sprawled legs

ready to sprint off,

stopping my heart

in an instance.


I sit and wait; he

knows I’m there.

He senses my presence.

My body shakes.

I have a plan, and leave

the room to find the

death weapon.


When I return – he’s gone!

and I am left wondering

‘Was he ever there at all?’




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October 6, 2015



And in the rat holes of dismay,

where ferrets hunt out daily prey,

and gunshots loud, cause shivered spines,

and rabbits flea their safe confines.


No warren, a haven, when vicious terriers

set free to instinctively act as couriers,

and naïve pheasants, at a lazy pace,

become tomorrow’s captured brace.


With hunters pleading ‘they were born to be dead,

whilst irate Salvationist’s see mists of red.

Who’s right?   Who’s wrong? – Life’s down to luck.

But caught in the cross-fire, limps off one lame duck!


And in the Badger versus Bovine debate

so much now sorted; some say too late.

Whilst those with a differing point of view,

still up in arms, as sense and reason stew.


So If you’re a lifelong animal lover,

then step this way, but do take cover,

for bullets flying through the air,

cannot distinguish who is there.


The Country fox, long since, saw some sense,

and with his cubs, headed for, the urban fence,

to a safer environment, he felt was right;

snuggling up in a wheelie bin for the night!





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August 25, 2015



By day, the mind quite occupied;

a list of things to do.

So vital, now forgetful;

another hour lived through.


By night, the mind awakened;

two cats at war, do howl.

The feral one, an interloper,

depositing contents of it’s bowel.


By day, the mind recalls

the disturbed sleep of the night,

and sees outside the window,

rabbit entrails – what a sight!


By night, the mind remembers,

to lock the cat indoors;

keeping riots to a minimum,

in the hope of cleaner floors.



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May 19, 2015



She knew when to bark.

She knew when to cry.

She knew when to comfort.

She knew when to sigh.


She gave us her best years,

did our trusted lass,

and repaid us with loyalty;

our darling had class.


From the day she was rescued,

until the day that she died,

she never put a paw wrong;

she was our joy and pride.


She knew when to play.

She knew when to protect.

What comfort at the pet cemetery;

her memory to respect.


The mainstay of our family,

was our border collie cross.

Her passing, devastating;

heavens gain was our loss.




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May 7, 2015



Oh, for the sound

of Fortisimo!

His voice at a screech;

he sure let me know,

when he was lonely,

or tired of being ignored.

When in need of human affection,

oh how he yelled and implored.


Oh for the sound

of Fortisimo!

I’m half the person I was

as he probably knows.

I could win the Lotto,

that had rolled many a week,

and not feel as happy

as when his love I would seek.


Oh for the sound

of Fortisimo!

That little Siamese bastard,

just won’t let go

of my stolen heartstrings,

my mind, and each thought.

But my family would leave home,

if another I bought!



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February 26, 2015



When Bimbo Barker

was around,

he sat with them

when grief they found.

When his family knelt

by the television,

he felt their pain;

that dog had vision.


That Bimbo Barker;

one cool dude,

lived in the days of

‘Get Back’ and Hey Jude’.

When Radio Caroline

was at it’s height,

he lay by their bed

throughout the night.


When Bimbo Barker died,

with problems in old age,

not very long after,

they turned another page.

A transition time,

that was pure hell,

until Paddy Parka

rang their bell.


And saw them through

the grimmest days,

with his trust and loyalty,

and loving ways.

They said Bimbo Barker

must have filled him in,

on the do’s and don’ts

of fitting in.


That Paddy Parka;

one understanding soul,

helped when they spun,

out of control.

Only him alone,

in this world knew,

a closely guarded secret,

that on silence grew.


and for a time,

all was going well;

none of them sensing,

the parting knell.

Or another transition time,

that was on it’s way,

as Paddy Parka went to heaven,

after a fatal RTA.


‘No more’ they said;

‘now you are wed’.

‘We’ve done our bit,

our hearts have bled’.

‘It will be hard,

but we’ll survive somehow,

and anyway, a dog,

would outlive us now’!


A life without a dog;

a life that was unknown,

though, they switched to cats,

as cat’s stand on their own!

Or so they thought,

with a welcoming wave,

But in no time at all,

they became their slave.








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February 1, 2015



I caught his eye,

his tail wagged to and fro,

and boredom from

his mind did go.


The connection just

the bond he needed,

when tethered to a table

feeling so impeded.


He’d sat and stood,

and lay and rolled.

God, he was bored;

his face a story told.


All he yearned for

was a lengthy walk,

but all they did,

was sit and talk,


and talk and talk,

and rant and rave,

about sod all,

just her and Mave.


With him not being

a ‘working dog’,

each day to him

was just groundhog.


Just then he saw,

his mistress stand,

but not a glove did she

put on her hand,


instead she trotted

off to the bar,

to order desserts,

after adjusting her bra.


In disbelief, the dog

slumped back to the floor,

and licked his balls,

til they were sore.





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January 16, 2015



And though the litter

just days old,

it took only moments

to spot one so bold.


And then the greediest

by hunger led,

had soon gained weight,

and had the largest head.


The mild mannered one

waited in the queue,

until her mother’s teat

appeared on view.


But the smallest one

that they said might die,

I reared myself,

when he caught my eye.



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