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Dog Narrative Poems | Narrative Poems About Dog

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

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Details | Narrative |

The Dog and the Rabbit

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


Details | Narrative |

A Doggy Afternoon

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!


Details | Narrative |

AIR BALLOON RIDE AT THE FAIR

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


Details | Narrative |

I'll Never Understand Humans

                    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
feeding time.
   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 ………


Details | Narrative |

MAMA CAT AND HER GANG

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


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Noises in the Night

One cold night, deep in thought, and curled in fright,
From folklore tales aimed to scare;
My rigid poise froze to a screeching noise
Outside, a voice not like I've heard before, to leave I would not dare
“It’s probably just an owl or creature of the night out there"
I muttered to myself, then pretended not to care

Oh, I recall quite vividly this icy Winter’s night
With grainy sight, the sandman came to lead me to his land
The weariness I fought but eventually he caught
Pulling me quite taut to somewhere far less bland   
Where I became the leader of a marvellous brass band
And down that path sandman tightly gripped me by my hand

Trumpeters and trombone players played musically in layers
Exciting each and everyone, spreading joy to all around
But my dreams were playing tricks, my mind was in a mix
The bass tuba sounded sick, not playing tuneful sounds
Instead a grating shrill, then the whining of a hound
The lightning and the rain came too, my dream then ran aground           

Alone I grew more frightened and the intensity just heightened
The shrieks and shrills grew louder with an occasional thunder clap
Taking sanctuary under bed sheets, preying for melodic sound beats   
Suffering this painful feat, my soul took a massive slap
Oh how I longed for it to stop and to return me to my nap
The bleakness of that night, my mind caught in a trap

Morning later broke, the ground outside was soaked
The noise had faded but there was still a haunting in my ears
A crunch, a grind, a squeak a whine
The cause I vowed to find, and to take away my fears
From the upstairs window I saw a farmer crouched in tears
And a windmill's broken sails; the mystery closure neared

Across the muddy field, I approached the man kneeled
Sobbing over what appeared to be a dead Alsatian
He'd found it just lying there, the hound, his best friend 
Downed by a falling windmill piece, killing gods creation
"A slow death" the farmer said "he must have cried out for attention"
"And my mill cranks broken causing noises of a nauseating sensation"



Details | Narrative |

life choices

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

http://www.npr.org/2013/12/26/257255801/after-moores-f5-tornado-storm-shelter-interest-increases


Details | Narrative |

Walter

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.


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Did You Know Goldens Can Talk



When us dogs lie there and stare up at you What do you think we're thinking Are we thinking whatever you say I agree with Because you feed us every day without fail We don't have hands, these paws are useless For opening bags or cans Tried biting the lid off early last month Needed stitches, trouble eating for quite a while What! Are you surprised we know what a month is I'm not just your average pet you know I'M A GOLDEN RETRIEVER We're a special breed, just want all humans to know that Us guys should be treated like royalty We love everybody and don't mean to knock people down We get a little over excited at times Mean no harm, hoped your stay in the hospital Would be short and you'd come out as good as new Us dogs... sorry, us Goldens are a special breed We don't associate with other less sophisticated breeds Well, now that I've completely blown your mind Perhaps next time we talk you'll have recovered One thing before I go mute again It'll be enough when wifey finds out I can talk So I won't tell her about what I saw in the hospital About the way you were ogling dear nursey-poo For an extra bone and a sufficient amount of doggie treats I'll keep this OUR little ole secret WOOF! WOOF! © Jack Ellison 2014


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The good gesture


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.


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