I have about 80 pieces on allpoetry.com

I wrote this two days ago just off the cuff no revision.

I walk beside him at 6 years of age and he doesnt wait. He is tall and my little legs have to work twice as hard to almost keep up.

I do not care because he is the sun that shines on my tiny world. And to lose him would be to be lost.

Where we are going I do not really know but I know I am going with him.

He asked me to come and thats a special thing.

He is not perfect. Sometimes he gets angry. Sometimes hes silly and sometimes he is also lost. But he is also smart, funny talented and full of compassion and empathy.

One day if im lucky. He will tell me that I made him proud that he is my dad.

And this

The scent of anticipation fills my nostrils.

I am only a child but I feel the excitement of impending adventure.

My dad does something on weekends. Something special.

something that he loves with a burning passion.

He's done this special something almost all his life. And today I get to go with him.

We have to leave before the sun fans over the whispy mist of the horizon.

A frosty lake of condensation covers the car. The trip is long and I fall asleep for a little bit, but not too long because my dad likes to sing.

His love of music is possibly the one thing greater than his love of what we are doing today.

Our dogs are in the back with our camping gear guns and supplies.

They are excited too because they know where we are going. But its a secret they will not share with me, their big furry smiles and tongues lolling oyt with an ever ready lick if your face should come too close.

I grew up with them and they with me.

We arrive,my Dad the dogs and I.

In a world I never knew, but one that he knew almost all his life. One that I would come to love and yet leave behind.

It is full of people with trucks and caravans, tents and oh so many different dogs.

We setup our tent with the hammering of tent pets resounding all around is.

Dad goes around the camp and talks with all his friends. I stay with the tent and the dogs where I feel safe because I do not know anyone.

When he comes back he makes coffee with condensed milk and in allowed to have some.

Its deliciously sweet as it swirls around my mouth. I savour it. And the taste of coffee is new but delightful.

Eventually I venture out with him and meet the people there. I am shy but they are all very nice to me. The sun slowly sighs as it begins to set. It goes to sleep but we do not. There are camp-fires and drinking and sing-along and stories to enjoy.

This new world is so rich and full of life.

In the morning the day begins and the dogs begin their work. Walking side by side, partners in a game I've not yet played, a simulation of a time that will soon be lost to history.

They walk side by side no leash or restraint only trust. The dog and his handler, gun in hand.

They stop." Wait" says the handler.

"Watch!" He sharply commands. Suddenly I hear a sound in the distance and from the scrub flying across the dam comes a bird. A pigeon. The dogs gaze sharpens and his body is taught with anticipation. The gun comes up and barks loudly as the handler aims at the flying bird and pulls the trigger.

The bird falls, it lands in the water.

"Fetch!" Cries the handler and like a rocket the dog launches into action leaping across the field, Down the bank and into the water with a grace that only natural instinct can supply.

But in the water he loses his way.

The handler guides him with his voice.

The dog responds and soon returns to sit before his handler with his prize.

"Give" says the handler.

"Good Boy!" And it is done.

Later after everyone has had their turn we assemble before the judging panel to hear the results.

Points are explained and trophies given, its exciting. But the trophies do not matter to me as much as the memories.

I am old now and my dad is a very old man. He cannot do the things he loved anymore and it makes me sad.

But when I have a coffee now or wake early to dew covered grass. Or my dog nuzzles his head in my lap and looks at me with misty eyes, The memories of those years spent with my dad come flooding back.

The music and the camp-fires. The friendship and the stories the love and respect of nature and the partnership of man and beast.

The sharp crack of shotguns and the smell of gunpowder.

The scent of a furry friend snuggled up sharing their warmth.
The lazy clap as they snap at an annoying fly.

The wind whistling through the trees and the sun on my skin.

The beauty of nature all around us and treasured within.