My dogs won’t be guiet

There are times
when I am most interested
by the conversation of,
my old dogs barking.

Trekking through the woods
or plowing a field
they are always talking,
my old dogs barking.

When we take a stroll
down cement and asphalt
they are insistent critters,
my old dogs barking.

Remove the leather leash
lay them down on the porch
there is silent reproach from,
my old dogs barking.

Grab some soap and water
wash away their days dirt
yet still they whine,
my old dogs barking.

We have traveled many miles
seen sights seen by few
they were there,companions,
my old dogs barking.

When I am placed in the grave
when my burden is laid low
it will be the only rest I get from,
my old dogs barking.

©2012, Donald Harbour

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12 thoughts on “My dogs won’t be guiet

  1. Dear Don,
    Hello! I stopped by to wish you a good new year. I notice the snow has moved in and hope your area is not smothered, while the rest of us swelter [okay, hyperbole].
    The poem is a bonus to my stopping by. It left me smiling wryly, that the speaker has to die to escape the barking, although I figure the dogs will stand where he is buried and bark.
    margo

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  2. The refrain works, and that humorous ending. There’s good companionship there when you go walking with the dogs, Donald.

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  3. hark hark…bark bark….my dog HOWLS…at the coyotes….or Ginsberg….happy trails my friend….and thanks again for sharing your words

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  4. Oh I so love this poem, and your “old dogs”. I so miss my old fellow, who barked ALL THE TIME for fourteen years. When he died, an eery silence fell over the neighborhood and everyone he had so annoyed said they missed him. I know I do, still, and always will.

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