A Park Day Prize: Thank You Finn and Gizmo!

Oh Gail, that looks like an interesting parcel. Is it for me?

Well yes Bertie, in fact it is. All the way from Finn and Charley in New York. Did you know that you won a prize for your Park Day post on 26 April.

A prize? How tremendously exciting! For the poem I wrote about Duthie Park, I presume? At last my literary talents have been recognised and rewarded...

Er Bertie, not so fast. I hate to break it to you pal, but I think you won the prize because your name was pulled out of the hat first, rather than on literary merit.

Oh. Are you quite sure?

(Bertie looks momentarily crestfallen, but soon bounces back).

Whatever. Let's open it up. Hurry hurry!

Oh my gosh that is just brilliant. My very own shark!


And such a pretty card for Gail.


And oh and those chewy things look just great too. A pig and an alligator, if I am not mistaken?


What do you mean Gail, you are going to save them for our next train journey? I am not at all interested in your notion that success in life is strongly linked to an ability to delay gratification. I am a dog, remember. You might at least open up that roll thingy.

Please!

Thank you SO much to both Finn and Gizmo, not only for the wonderful and generous prize gifts, but for organising such a hugely enjoyable and successful Park Day.

I expect most of my friends already know about Park Day 2.0. It all looks so much fun. I do hope I get to take part, despite Gail's constant refrain that she's "too busy just now"...

Park Day: a poem celebrating Duthie Park

I couldn't quite decide what to do to for Finn and Gizmo's Blogville 'Park Day'. 

You see, for me, every day is Park Day! So to celebrate my daily walk round the local park, Gail suggested that I compose a poem. 

Here goes (with some help from Gail):

Snapshots of Duthie Park

Winter mornings. Dark, sharp, cold,

Dogs are sporting flashy disco lights,

Their ghostly owners wrapped in Marks and Spencers' shrouds,

The wind that's crossed the river gathers bite.

A weekend afternoon in Spring,

Much optimistic pallid flesh exposed,

Goose pimples notwithstanding, those from Aberdeen

Think, if the sun is out, they need few clothes.

Light evenings, masochists enrolled 

In British Military Fitness race

Around in circles, yelled at by

Instructors thick of neck and red of face.

Summer Sundays: barbecues, picnics,

Ice-cream cones lightly held by dog-height hands,

Those kids with flappy arms and high pitched shrieks,

Will tempt a chap to disobey commands.

And by the pond exquisite model boats,

Are all controlled by older men, sad,

One suspects, because their sons 

Prefer to lurk indoors, tending their (i)Pads.

A coach from Elgin parked beside the gate.

A line of grey-topped green enthusiasts

Make for the Winter Gardens' warmth, 

But pause en route to give cute pups a pat.

The cricket pitch brings out a different crowd.

Brown skins exotic still, in Scotland's chilly north.

When game's in progress I am not allowed

To dash across the grass and chase the ball.

But mostly we are lucky in our Park

Few rules constrain us pups, we're free to run

No lead required, we socialise,

Explore and play, and have enormous fun.