Good Boy, Jake

Good Boy, Jake

Rod in hand, I went to the lake,
To fish for trout with my dog Jake.
I cast my line, it went plop-plop.
We waited for nature’s wat’ry crop.

The sun grew high and I began to doze,
Then I felt my friend’s cold nose.
The line grew taught and the rod it arced.
Jake’s tail wag-wagged and he barked and barked.

I pulled and heaved, the line budged not.
Then it slacked and turned. I fought, fought, fought.
The fish would win, that would not do.
So with a great big yank, the quarry flew!

High in the air, head and tail,
I watched in slow-motion, as my lunch did sail.
Then Jake, he yelped and lept up high,
To my surprise, the dog could fly!

He snatched the fish in his mighty jaws,
Then landed flat on all four paws.
Our catch, he laid dead at my feet.
I knew I’d share with him this treat.

Good boy, Jake.

Photo by mrpattersonsir

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Doug Langille
me@douglangille.ca

Husband, father, writer and shameless technophile.

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