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Poetry Pleases: Have Wheels, Will Travel

A photograph of a small dog whose rear legs had had to be removed and replaced by wheels inspired Jean Cowgill to venture into verse.

My name it is Otto von Stuttgart
I’m a dachshund whose job it is to guard.
I’m an excellent ratter, my jaws are quite tough.
My ancestry’s proven, my aunt won at Crufts.
But, take warning, my friends, pay heed to my talk
(not really a tale mine would be too short).
One bright sunny day on the twentieth of June,
with birdsong in air and flowers in bloom,
We shopped.
My mistress did visit baker, butcher and wine.
She talked to her sister an interminable time
when I spotted the cat, that damnable cat.
Boris stared me down – the infernal cat as he sat
at the foot of the elm tree across the main road.
My blood was fired up I did not do as I was told.
Breaking free of my bondage I leaped for his face
victory would be mine; past defeats be assuaged.
Cars screeched to a halt and my mistress did scream.
My back legs both snapped; blood poured in a stream.
I dropped.
I visited the world where all dogs stand and wait
in patient queues to learn their after-life fate.
Doggie heaven or hell I was about to hear
when the voice of a vet spoke gently in my ear.
‘It’s OK my son, everything will be fine’
I saw what he’d done and what used to be mine.
The son of my mistress is an esteemed engineer.
He made his draft plans and constructed this gear.
It was hard at first to move in a straight line,
both uphill and downhill gave me a hard time.
But now I can cope Boris had better beware.
I’m a ‘dachsie’ with wheels whom ALL cats should fear.


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