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Wednesday, 9 November 2011


"I've never bought dog food in my life,"
said the old car park attendant. "No need.
All the ingredients are there on the road,
so she's never been denied a bloody good feed."

He told me of his three-mile journey to work and back,
stopping whenever he saw a dead pheasant or fox,
swiftly out of the car with a shovel, a fine art,
a quick scoop of the corpse into a plastic box.

Back to his kitchen to boil or roast,
freezer packed with home-cooked ready meals,
a dog that had no reliance on a tin-opening owner,
feasting on animals killed by vehicle wheels.

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