These Dog Narrative poems are examples of Narrative poems about Dog. These are the best examples of Dog Narrative poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
The dog seen a rabbit and how he did chase
to catch that little critter and boy what a race
But one thing that rabbit knew as he ran away
he was not going to be lunch for that dog today
Around the tree and into the bushes he went
the dog was right after that little rabbit's scent
the dog was so busy that he never did see
that big old hornet nest way up in the tree
running and barking and making a sound
made all the hornets start buzzing around
They all made a dive and together they flew
when they hit the dog he knew he was through
He made up his mind right there and then
he would never go chasing that rabbit again
Narrator: I take you now inside the mind of a ten year old miniature Eskimo dog who
lives happily inside a Rambler house with a fenced back yard that serves as his special
area to periodically run freely when his “favorite person”(Love) puts him out, always
shouting “go pee!” to him. Strangely, Ollyver does not really seem to understand that
command. Perhaps to him it means “go play” since often he is later caught inside the
house in compromising positions, causing his owner to rush him again to the door to
the back yard!
Furthermore, new computer technology has enabled Ollyver’s owner (his “Love”)
to come up with a crude translation for Ollyver’s stream of thoughts. She knows his behavior the best, but still she must guess at a few things inside his brain due to his limited range of vocabulary and his typical doggy unconcern with that ! So now she has just let Ollyver out the back porch to go pee. . .
Ollyver: I go out! I go out! Run run run . . . Run here. . . Run there. . . Strange man
by fence. . . I can’t get to strange man. What you doing by my yard? Leave here leave here leave here. . . yip yip yip yip yip yip yip. . . . .
Owner’s voice from the porch: Go pee, Ollyver!!!
Ollyver: always “go pee” she say. . . Look look at me. . . I go pee . . . run here . . .
run there. . . (Ollyver continues running back and forth yelping at the stranger who
has since gotten past the fence as he walks along the canal road) I go pee I go pee. . .
Narrator: Ollyver runs back to the house, never having actually gone pee. He runs to
sit by his owner, whom he perceives as his favorite human. She is eating a bowl of ice
cream on the bed.
Ollyver: I go in. . . see yum-yum milk. . . I want I want I want
Narrator: Ollyver goes toward the bowl and gets pushed away, so he stares with big
anxious eyes going back and forth to Love and the bowl of yum-yum.
Ollyver: I want I want I want. . . Give me give me give me. . . Ohhhhh. . . Yum-yum
getting smaller and smaller. . . Ohhhhhhhhh
Narrator: Ollyver’s Love pats his head and lets him lick what remains at the bottom of the bowl. After he finishes, he snuggles by Love and beings to lick her hand and arm.
Ollyver: kiss kiss kiss kiss. . . Love Love Love
Narrator: Suddenly the door bell rings, and he dashes off the bed to the front door
with his Love following behind him, yelling: “No Ollyver!” He peers through the window and sees a stranger.
Ollyver: yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip yip go away strange lady go away strange lady
go away strange lady yip yip yip yip yip yip yip. . ..
Narrator: The door bell rings again and Ollyver runs to his favorite corner of the family
room, where he begins to do the very thing his owner had wanted him to do previously
when she let him out into the back yard. Her voice yells shrilly “No, Ollyver” and she
shoves him to the back door saying: “OUT here, Ollyver. Go pee out HERE.” Ollyver
then runs across the yard going back and forth, back and forth.
Ollyver: see see see, Love. . . I go pee I go pee
**For the contest of Just That Archaic Poet:This is my personification of Ollyver, the pet that gave me the greatest unconditional love of any pet I ever owned. Because we could never train him (I even hired a trainer to help us) and because of other complications, I had to give him up when he was around ten years old. I missed him so much. and even my cat, Razzmatazz cannot replace him for pure affection. I gave him to a place that promised a no-kill policy and to this day, I am hoping he had a great life until the end!
My son and his family drove down from the big city,
out to the countryside with open fields and steams.
They brought their standard golden poodle along,
a curly-haired fellow, name of Timmy.
Timmy had never seen a cat;
not even a mole or a furry rat.
Visiting country kin, he was checking things out.
Everything went fine that very first day.
Cats went about paying him no mind.
He walked about just passing time.
On that second day there was a big mistake.
Being a city dog with more worldy ways,
to add pleasure to his hum-drum days,
he thought it time to befriend these country kin.
The cats had never seen a dog this small,
only those on stilts, big, long and tall,
like Pyrenees, big wide mouths and teeth to match.
With barking big dogs on the scene,
up a tree they squirreled, never to be seen.
But this golden-haired fellow, with city clout--
they’d give him benefit of instinctive doubt.
Mama cat was even so bold
to sniff this city slicker right on the nose.
Sizing him up all the while, a friendly rat, she surmised,
a might bigger than some she had seen,
playing cat and mouse, yet acting so coy;
that is, until that overgrown golden-haired rat
walked up to Mama’s black baby boy.
Mama’s two other sons, another black and a blue,
began to gather nearer this city dweller, too.
Timmy politely extended his nose.
black son cat extended his razor-sharp claws,
with a bristled tail and fierce hissing jaws.
Timmy let out with a painful yelp,
as Mama cat called all boys in for help.
Cats surrounded and gave chase to the dog,
life-fearing circles around the cedar tree he’d log;
four hissing cats hot on his tail,
poor Timmy yelping in a desperate wail.
The master of Timmy gave rescue,
but Mama cat and her three grown sons,
strutting in pride, putting a dog on the run.
Written by: Carolyn Henderson
For Constance LaFrance's Cat Poem Contest
Won 9th Place
Bright yellow, green and blue
Are some colours to name a few.
And in their daub or scroll[ compete compare
To the carnival’s lively and zany air.
Powdered faces pale announce
A disregard (of) or speak to superficial self,
As buzzing rides revolve and reel,
While the spielers project & create (their feel)
To sweet smelling grass in the down-trodden field.
See the open mouthed and blank-eyes clowns,
With heads that left to right will turn half round
When pretty Katie passes by,(Vivacious child in navy dress,)
Honey skin and teeth chalk white, under coiffeured tress.
Within her hand from Daddys passed
A pink balloon all helium gassed,
while In the other hand is pressed
An icy pole half past its best.
A stray dog with darting chocolate eyes
Espies the treat and makes a try,
Now poor Katie covers her face and cries,
As her air balloon makes its maiden ride
Over the hot dog stall it goes[ as Katie screams on tippy toes
While Rover wolfs his stolen delight,
Oblivious to the toddler’s plight.
Up…up into the atmosphere and then a sudden rush of air,
It to the big wheel sends from there,
Where a wild-eyed lad with hair like straw
Fixes it fast in a gangly paw,
But Daddy sees it all transpire, and scooping up Katie heads that way,
As Daddies will to save the day.
(ammended 19 04 2011)
© Joe Maverick 10-12-2010
I’ll Never Understand Humans
Hi, My name is Lady, and I live a dogs life, yes I’m a lazy mutt, but,
before you go getting the wrong idea, I’m integral in the well being of
family. My main interests are feeding time, walkies,sniffing dog poo, feeding time,
rolling in dog poo and feeding time,believe me, I earn my living here.
I’m the family entertainer, the kids dress me in silly clothes, yes I know,
humiliating, but I enjoy the happiness and laughter it brings them, I do my party
pieces for visitors, the begging with the outstretched paw, the standing on the hind
legs and hopping, the rolling over, I don’tmind the rolling over, I just imagine I’m
rolling in dog poo,and I’m no fool, I expect reward for my efforts, I call that tidbits
Then I just laze and wait for my master to come home, pah, how that sticks in the
throat, but I play the part with a big welcome, ass wobble, tail waggle, bounce about,
he seems toappreciate all this, maybe coz nobody else bothers lol. Soon I know it
will be feeding time and walkies and more dog poo sniffing, well, it’s nice to know
who’s been about. Hey get this, when I do a poo he picks it up, I could understand
if he rolled in it, but picking it up, what’s that all about?
He’s not always been happy with me though, the time he gave me that lovely
warm blanket when I was a pup, and I ate it, and the big fight I had with that
horrid black dog up the street, he only saw the end of that encounter, he missed
the part where the brute tried to rape me, it was self defence I tells yer. He’d have
witnessed the whole incident if he hadn’t been chatting to that blonde bint with
the obedient German Shepherd, you know the sort, sits there close to his mistress
looking all haughty and dignified, while I’m sniffing her bottom, never did care for
that dog, or his poo come to that.
The best though, was that holiday in Essex, when he insisted on taking me on this
humongous walk in the footsteps of John Constable, talk about booooring, till on our
way back we crossed a field that had just been slurried, ooooh I smelled so gorgeous,
I was in doggie heaven, he was somewhere between mad and a funny vivid colour,
but we got over it. Sometimes I look into those big sad eyes of his and wonder just
what’s going on in there. Guess what though; for all his faults, I don’t think anybody
loves him more than I do. Oooo, someone is opening a candy bar, tidbits feeding time.
See yer ………
the father sees a neighbor
screaming with child as she runs
out the front door to shelter
he hustles his own to shelter
and turns to see other neighbors
with their two dogs come running behind
the shelter's too small to hold everyone,
the father says climb in but we can't fit the dogs
the neighbors hesitate - then pull the dogs
back to their house as father shuts shelter door
in a few seconds jets and trains and
bombs overhead shiver into steel and
time stops or stretches to infinity
as flotsam shoots through cracks
father opens shelter door sure he will
witness haunting fears he knows
and runs to the pile that was
minutes ago, the neighbors house
throwing pieces of piles aside
he digs to the small space that
two hundred and ten miles per hour
had enclosed to free friends and dogs
both men shudder at their fortunes
the father, immensely glad to not
have to bear witness and grief,
the owner, who couldn't
do that to his beloved dogs
© Goode Guy 2013-12-26
He stood and aimlessly watched the parade of patrons and volunteers that wandered daily past his kennel. All so familiar, so ordinary. Just like every other day he mused. Nothing new. Nothing special.
Moving to the small crumpled blanket near the back of his cage, he turned several times and finally curled up, head on his paws, positioned so that he could watch the activity around him. But in reality, he was bored. It had been a long time since he had met each morning with anticipation. Too many days. Too much disappointment. He would leave all that barking and racing to the front of their cage to the younger pups who hadn’t figured out yet that the cute ones went first. It didn’t really make any difference what you did to attract attention if you weren’t young or cute, or both.
Too much time had gone by to participate in the charade. In reality, Walter had seen a lot of people that he would rather not spend a lot of time with. You know the type. Kind of hyper, bouncing from stray to stray, looking for a perfect dog. Kids poking their fingers through the kennel screen or banging on it. Some even making barking sounds. He didn’t need any of that and was glad when they were gone.
Walter was very picky. Set in his ways after so many years. He had had it good for a long time. An only dog in a household of two people that let him be himself. No tricks. No stunts. Just long naps and daily walks. A yard to himself to reflect on what was for dinner. He had been fond of his doggy bed in their bedroom. Each night he would help his owner walk through the house turning off the lights and checking the doors before they climbed the stairs together. And there was always one last good night pat before settling down.
But those days were gone now. First one had become ill and went to the hospital and never came back. The other one changed overnight, spending long days, sitting mostly. The walks became less frequent. Walter did what he could. He could see it in their eyes that they were hurting from their loss. He would make a point of laying his head in their lap, trying to let them know that he missed them too. At times like this, he instinctively knew that although it remained unsaid, they only had each other.
He remembers well the day that his owner snapped a leash on him and said, “well Walter, I’m afraid we have to say goodbye. I have to go to a place where they won’t let me keep you, so I am going to have to let you go.” Walter could see the tears in his eyes. He knew it would do him no good to whine or resist. It was obvious there were no alternatives. And besides, it would just make it harder on his owner. But he was going to miss him. It was not going to be easy to adjust.
But adjust he did. He had been here a long time now and had seen countless pups and dogs trot past his cage with light hearts and new owners, heading off with new found hopes and expectations. But it soon became obvious that there weren’t a lot of people that wanted an old yellow hound. Everyone wanted the young ones. So here he lay, dozing a bit, but still keeping an eye on those walking by, many giving him but a glance before moving on.
He heard them before the saw them. ”Honey” the voice said. ”That looks like Walter, old Mr. Whitney’s dog.” Walters ears perked up a little. ”Do I know them” he thought. ”They seem to know me”. I’d better go take a closer look” and with that, he stood and slowly ambled toward his kennel gate, giving a cautious wag of his tail.
“It is him” the man said. ”Walter, how you doing boy? Do you remember me?”
And upon closer inspection, Walter did remember him. He used to live right across the street. He would see him in his yard and if Walter were to ramble over, he usually had a dog treat in his pocket. With the recognition, Walter gave a little stronger wag and moved toward the fingers extended through the fencing. It was good to see an old friend.
“What do you say hon” the man said. ”How would you feel about bringing Walter home with us?”
Walter looked at the woman and saw her nod in agreement. ”You wait here and I’ll go find a volunteer.”
The man bent down and said “What do you think Walter? Would you like to go home with us?”
Actually, Walter decided, he could think of nothing he would like more. A chance to go back to the old neighborhood with people he already knew. What was there not to like.
Soon the woman returned and the gate opened. A leash was snapped on Walter and together they proceeded past the rows of dogs and puppies, all vying for their attention. Walter couldn't help but stand a little straighter, stepping a little more lightly, showing off. ”This is what going home looks like guys.” he thought. ”Good luck and goodbye”.
As they neared the car the man said “I can’t believe we found you Walter. There is someone I am going to take you to see. I can’t wait to see the expression on his face when you walk in his room>”
Walter, of course, knew exactly who he was talking about. And he couldn't wait to see the expression on his face either.
I'm typing a letter to you, remember the type writer? "ya, you do." Anyway I thought it would be a nice jester to write this letter, but it really is hard when I have nothing to say.
I had a brain storm at a quarter till four this morning then had the idea to write down some notes, then decided not to bother and burned them in the ashtray.
I couldn’t sleep so I made a Jacks n' coffee and sang a song or two on the Karaoke channel. ( I know Karaoke is crazy.) but oh well.
After listening to my raspy voice my dog starting licking himself and I decided this was my call to call it a night, or morning. (Whatever.)
I took a nap for a few and am now awake it’s six twenty two (to be exact) and I want to write you this letter. I still can't remember those notes and have nothing to say and my dog is sleeping like a log. (must of had a good night.)
Anyway the time is wearing and I'm out of Jacks so I need to get me some for my morning coffee and toast.
I give up this letter, this writing and this damn type writer.
It sounded like a good idea, but apparently wasn’t. ( I have been wrong before.)
So when I get back from zeppes I'll give you a call and tell you all about this letter and it's journey.
I am sitting in my light brown leather reclining chair
after a strenuous day at my office glad to be home
no more stress no wife just my dog Bandit at my side
I'm holding in my right hand my favorite relaxing drink
a single malt scotch on cracked ice with a twist of lemon
as I was about to close my eyes just a little past seven
counting the blessings in my life from heaven
then out of the unexpected blue everything changed
never I mean never to be the same again
or maybe I was just going insane
out of the corner of my right eye
what I saw oh God what I saw was something that really
scared the hell out of me
as the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up
and my flesh turned cold
a man dressed all in black and red
with a haunting evil look in his coal black eyes
I believed he was from the dead
stepped right through a solid wall made of brick an stone
and stood there looking around the room
then looked right through me as though I wasn't there
my dog bandit backed up in fright and hid behind the chair
making noises like I never heard him make before
as my goose bumbled flesh turned cold as ice
I sat paralyzed could not move from my light brown leather reclining chair
then he smiled a shark like pointed toothy grin
as he placed his gaze my way
and pointed a long gray boney finger right at me
the only sound that I could hear was the beating of my own heart
as though it was going to tare my chest apart
then he spoke in a low evil raspy voice and said
I'll be awaiting you on the other side
then he turned to leave the room
the way he entered by stepping right through a solid wall
made of brick an stone
now I sit here all alone wondering and shaking
what the hell just happend to me
is there something in my life that I must change
my life do I have to rearrange
I do not want to meet that messenger from hell on the other side
this is not a tale I tell
for you may think I'm crazy as hell
but I believe in what I saw
I was visited by a messenger from hell
if there is a lesson to be learned from my story
look into your life and change what will make it right
to travel into the light
to heaven not hell
when your time ends upon this earth
She's pouring from a pot of tea
as we relax on the quiet porch
Honeysuckle vines encircle the posts,
and webs of daddy long-legs
glisten in the afternoon light.
She nonchalantly chatters, telling me her stories...
as if they were ordinary tales
which, of course, ..they are not.
Sailing across an ocean during dangerous wartime,
Living in exotic, but threatened tropics
A life of adventure, of hardship, of fear
Yet none of that revealed on her weathered face
She smiles, cheeks rouged and eyes sparkling.
Inside the house, the counter is cluttered with dirty dishes
The floor is sticky, and dog hair floats in prisms of light
The old hound sleeps in the middle of the kitchen rug.
An older black lab is lapping up water from a brown dish
dripping water from his sloppy face across the checkered floor.
Throughout the house, a lingering musky smell of well loved pets,
and a stale, smokey odor of burnt toast from her attempt at breakfast.
Servants, cooks, gardeners, are now part of a long ago past.
The house is filled with dust covered, treasured belongings from yesterday.
Piles of clutter everywhere.
Junk mail, newspapers, dog treats,
documents and clippings
prized antiques and artifacts
On shelves, and on the walls, are sepia-hued photographs
People of fame, others of family and friends...
I see my own family among them.
A handsome young man, and she, his bride.
He would become a General.
She would follow him to the ends of the earth.
Their life like a story that one would read in a novel.
I sit here now,...with this woman of many lives.
Sitting on her porch, she wears a tattered, splattered dress.
Today, she is a homespun, country widow.
An extraordinary woman, this grand Duchess,
yet now who bears traits of Ma Kettle
She brought class, dignity, and a wealth of knowledge
to our small country neighborhood,....... to my life.
Here we are, together, so far from the world she once knew.
We sit in the shade of her covered porch
A long haired, grey cat jumps into her lap.
Under the veil of a summer day
I pour her another cup of tea, and a little more for myself.
Tea is served....I have much more to drink in.....to savor.
In memory of dear friends, most amazing people, who lived down our road ...
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lester_Maitland Aviation Pioneer