Barney
by Harry Ashworth
Through Healey Dell and Whitworth Vale,
O’er Rooley Moor to Rossendale.
We walk for many a country mile,
From Deerplay Hill around ‘The Hile’.
And then to keep from feeling bored,
We walk from Weir to Sharneyford,
And if we have more time to spend,
We’ll see the view from Cribden End;
Route marches just like in the Army,
Except I’m with my best friend Barney.
His steel-blue coat and golden hair,
His brown eyes searching everywhere,
Four short legs and wet black nose,
He takes me with him where ever he goes.
A spiky beard and impish face,
Alert and sharp he moves with grace,
And keeps me from all hidden dangers,
Just two of us, he can’t stand strangers.
Amazing how one as small as he,
Should take such very good care of me.
He’s been my friend for fourteen years,
All happy days, there’s been no tears,
A treasure worth more than priceless gold,
But now alas, he’s growing old.
And if you want to know the truth,
I’m not in the first flush of youth.
He guards me from imagined foes,
I’m very grateful - I’m sure he knows.
Each day I’m proud he chose to be,
The Yorkshire Terrier who still owns me.
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