Taffy Goes Golfing

Taffy and I walk together finding golf balls in the heather. A true friend as we slog around a best partner so I have found. Wanting my dog to have a proper name in line with respect for this noble game. Named for rotund William Howard Taft a golfing president that sounded apt. Though a pedigree mongrel hound we share moments that are profound. Off we go to our little town course Taffy watches as balls hit the gorse. Traversed the front in level par felt a tinge of confidence thus far. Breezing the back with a birdie or two misses catching up, maybe coming due. Tensing Taffy sniffs birds of prey looming ravens, an omen they say. The last before me, the count at three can I shoot my age, will it ever be? Taffy and I stood staring at the hole needing an up 'n down to make my goal. Set up for the chip with breath quicken Jumpy, trembling as I struck it thin. A shadowy being leapt from the right Taffy had snatched my shot mid flight! Then he dropped it right next to the cup I stepped in quick and cleaned it up. From now on, no matter how I play Taffy and I will have this one day!