Joff and Jack edited October 2013

Joff  his name, black as
Mother's oven on a Sunday,
came to heel when asked and
sat at one command
rarely on the lead, would sit
outside shops and wait while
I bought a dinky car,
or something trivial.
 
Standing proud on the little lawn
the only picture I can find.
We had him given as a pup'
without his pedigree but
we had no need of that,
he was royal no doubt.
 
How old I do not know,
too young to care.
(Thought my mother was
an ancient Briton.
in her garden clothes
I could be forgiven,
but see her on a Sunday
in the chapel pew!)
 
Joff,  named by Mam
they'd had a  Joff  at Granny
Stabler's, eight girls as well,
two sons to make it ten;
Cygnet Street we called it;
walked the three miles,
brother in the pram
I sat in as well
to cross the bridge,
to save the toll-gate penny.
And Joff came too.
 
He died as all dogs do,
the vet. said it was cancer.
 
Jack is at my side right now,
black as Mother’s oven on a Sunday
Comes to heel when asked
Rarely on a lead
My son almost called him Joff
(but Jack was a working dog
so Jack it had to be
to carry in the field.)
Gave me Jack when he was four
(They remain thick as thieves)
Jack is retired, only walks now,
but still retrieves my shoes
and my cap on windy days.
Brings me Dolly in the morning
and sits at one command.