The first twelve days they nursed apart in splendid isolation, A time for bonding with their babes and total adoration, But while they were both separate, I needed nightly help, So drew upon the kindness’s of those who’d help me whelp, My dear and darling other half, my soul mate and my rock, Would meet me on the graveyard shift in PJ’s and bed socks, “I’ve seen you looking better love – thank God you scrub up well, Let’s give these girls their midnight feast and head back to our cells!” And gentle Jo, our Lucy’s “mum” enjoyed her puppy sitting, A magical nocturnal joy she didn’t mind admitting, Both maiden mums were natural, so competent and calm, And we knew from interaction that they’d ne’er do other harm, So twelve days into motherhood their litters were combined, A dedicated nursery of love and peace of mind, The laundry was formidable an endless thankless chore, A dozen daily tub loads were a necessary bore, But sixteen little butterballs, defenceless, deaf and blind, Were ample compensation for the drudgery and grind, Sixteen perfect pretty pups who ranged from blonde to gold, Sixteen precious cherished babes a privilege to hold, I made myself a promise that before they journeyed on, I’d know the little characters of each and every one, And though I was meticulous in marks of recognition, With brightly coloured varnish in the age old tried tradition, It wasn’t long at all before I knew them all by sight, Even little murmured squeaks I heard throughout the night. Little “Red” would sometimes cry – he was a Lucy pup, But hushed just like a newborn babe when he was cradled up, Often he would sleep with me, tucked up beneath my chin, As happy with his human mum as canine kith and kin,


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