Beagling II

Tail held high, a white semaphore signalling

the hunt’s about to start. Nose to ground

and grass – her grindstone. She wants to

work, but the job’s lost acceptability. Plastic

bags, spent PET bottles and Coke cans make

poor alternatives to rabbit’s necks or hare’s

throats, but she goes in for the kill, reluctantly

handing over her quarry when it’s good and

Dead. Catching invisible scent, she hits turbo-

drive. Dying teasels and dog daisies, soggy

tufts of couch make way -- she’s coming

through. That old birch stick didn’t stand a

chance. Carried with proud head high she

returns to her lair beneath the dining table

to strip skin from wood and leave the carcass

ready for the vacuum cleaner to do its duty.