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Monday, 16 September 2013


We had the pup for only a few days before Sammy drowned it.
To this day, nearly fifty years on, I don't know why he killed
the innocent creature.  Pup versus man-off-the-rails is no match
of fairness or reason.  But Sammy was an unpredictable git.

He had been in trouble with the police for petty offences
and so was not shy in coming forward to stir things up for laughs,
playing the outlaw, pouring fear into our hearts, menace into our lives
and disbelief into the big, sad, struggling eyes of a young dog.

After the murder, he loped off down Bearnagh Drive,
laughing, effing and blinding, swaggering like a lummox,
shrugging, water-off-a-duck's-back act of violence.
Only moments before, our pup was still alive.

Inches long, it's body lay on the path with us kids around it.
To poke it, to leave it alone, to think of excitement or sin,
to chuck it in the long grass or to bury it like human dead,
choices to ponder.  Yes, Sammy was an unpredictable git.

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