Sunday Picnic

Sunday Picnic
Q. LaGrande

Last Sunday afternoon of late
After busy holiday state
I gave in to relaxing air,
A picnic with a summer flair

So gather up my dogs of might
Three in tow, though two walk light
And well behaved as not to tether
And carry their own leads together.

A bag of goodies, so called food,
I gathered though I thought it crude
To carry in a grocery bag,
But then again, the truth be had,

We were of foot (or hoof, or paw),
And cooler weighed too much by far-
Slightly large, cantankerous
If three leads were happed to tangle us.

We skipped along to join our friend,
Along the way, the day to spend
At a lovely seaside park,
Lighthouse looming, Sunday’s lark.

Music-by-the-Sea, found we,
A reggae band and two or three
Hundred or so admirers
Of these toe-tapping dance inspirers.

Sat we warm along the coast.
With no blanket, the grass played host.
My regal three just happed to be
The parks biggest celebrities!

As my handsome friend and I
Sipped wine (cleverly disguised
As apple juice, though quite diluted,
The authorities not once disputed)

The golden three sat ‘neath a tree
Simply happy there to be
And greeted a most grand procession
Of admirers of their fur possession.

Strangers came and took their pics
(As if they seemingly did tricks?)
Content to merely sit and pant,
“How beautiful!” the folks did rant.

And finally as the time did pass
We all jumped up and did a dance.
Every tail and toe were wagging
Not the smallest soul was lagging.

Or dragging to the beat’s concession
“Feeling hot, hot, hot,” was true confession.
Then time for all to boogie home,
I was glad for I had known

That darling Music-by-the-Sea
Summer Sundays hap to be
And now I have a steady date
Thanks to Stormy’s words of great.