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The lines below were written by a friend of mine, Robert J Vincent – they cause a rueful smile to cross my face each time I think of them…

HOW marvellous is man’s best friend — my dog of course is that,
Excepting when he tore the throat from next-door neighbour’s cat.
How soft and furry is my cat. Contentedly he purrs
Until, beneath the undergrowth, a thrush or blackbird stirs.
How handsome they, their songs’ delight, alive with nature’s mirth,
Save when they’re smashing snails to death or dragging worms from earth.
So gracefully the heron flies, protected by the law. But not my goldfish since she called — my pond is down to four.
The thieving magpie, chattering swoops on hedgerows for her fare
Of baby sparrows, wrens or tits, while frantic mothers stare.
And in the woodland, wraith-like deer, all nibbling at the cud,
Called in my garden yesterday and chewed off every bud.
Free-ranging Reynard flees The Hunt, let’s hope them he’ll outrun.
Forget my chicken, geese and duck he savaged just for fun. But then my chicken, duck and geese don’t peck bugs just to spite ‘em
In turn those insects that survive, prey on ad infinitum.
But if I hunt or shoot or fish, right now the outlook’s grim.
Some gentle, justly caring soul may rend me limb from limb.
So let us prey.

ROBERT JULES VINCENT

Some years ago I published postcards bearing the poem together with illustrations by Diana E Brown: -

While I’m here I might as well add latest thoughts on my RSS feed.  It used to be a really useful way of keeping the books I have most recently acquired for sale at the forefront of potential customers’ – whether enthusastic book collectors or rural pursuits aficionados – minds.  But technology is winning, it is in the hands of my original website builder, and we will muddle on keeping the blog for the bits and pieces my assistant or I find around the office, or indeed the thoughts and recollections found in and around my head that I can link to hunting, shooting, fishing or the countryside!

Next time, pictures of the wonderful orchids from a nearby disued quarry…

Well I’ve been having no end of trouble with the RSS feed on my site, even my able assistant is struggling…  The latest idea is to put all my new books as they first come up for sale on this blog!  A good idea, and technically do-able, I understand…

But here is a poem I came across recently about a subject I REALLY understand!

FRIENDS

My father left ten thousand pound,

And willed it all to me.

My friends like sunflowers flock’d around,

As kind as kind could be.

They ate my meat – they drank my wine;

In truth so kind were they,

That be the weather wet or fine,

They’d dine with me next day.

They came: and like the circling year,

The circling glass went round;

Till something whispered in my ear,

“Ah, poor ten thousand pounds!”

“P’saw! Stuff! cried I, I’ll hear it not,

Besides such friends are mine,

That what they have, will be my lot,

So push about the wine”

The glasses rang – the jest prevailed,

‘Twas summer every day!

Till like a flower by blight assail’d,

My thousands dropt away.

Alas! and so my friends dropt off,

Like rose leaves from the stem;

My fallen state but met their scoff,

And I no more saw them!

One friend, one honest friend remain’d

When all the locusts flew,

One that ne’er shrunk, nor friendship feign’d

My faithful dog, ’twas you.

(from “The Sportsman’s Repository”.  1820)