For Boxing Day we had agreed a picnic outing be
a fix for stay-at-home discretionary malaise - we’d
played a long-planned Christmas roast-duck feast
with ‘cherried' finesse and enjoyed that afternoon,
but today we’d break away for somewhere exotic;
just discussing where it might be lent hypnotic ink
to a script that lead t’ water regardless; our family
these days comprises two chocolate labradors of
Grand vintage and Podge the JRT - all of whom’d
be standing liabilities wherever mixed company is
assembled; - so we chose a trip to the Creek here
on the farm, entailing a Ute ride with door stashed
on the back as a get-on/off ramp for the geriatrics
who looked at it askance until the penny dropped
And I say they handled it with great aplomb - tho’
the lack of inclusive picnic fare rankled a wee bit,
they enjoyed the wading and a cool creek bed to
lay down in & vegetate - while we deck-chaired a
modest turkey-filled-wrap repast, ate French Brie;
we saved th’ cup of tea for a returned-home brew
The team’s chicken-neck & beef-bone offering on
arrival settled any dissent and we settled in for an
incident free & thoroughly earned afternoon rest
© 26 December 2016, I. D. Carswell
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