Bonnie Highland Air by Helen Patrice
The leash you need—
well, it’s a harness really.
And big wellies, waders if you’re sensible.
Hard to walk in, but for the best.
You don’t want your tweeds wet, or your kilt.
Getting the harness on her is monstrous—
clip the o-rings together to fasten the oilcloth straps, around her chest,
and mind out for the neck.
She’ll swing it low and hard.
Get you right in the belly
if you’re not careful.
She fidgets too, sometimes dives,
with you hanging on like a fool.
When Nessie strains against the leash,
watch your neck, shoulders, back, hip sockets.
Even your ankles will feel the strain.
Still, she must be walked daily,
says King James the sixteenth,
so walked she shall be,
even though she swims plenty.
Carry a few salmon in your pockets.
Sometimes a treat’s the only thing
That stops you being carried off into the loch.
You’ll do all right, lass,
you’ll do all right.
Never you mind that cast on my arm,
it’s nothing.
I got in a fight with a southern lad, see,
who didn’t believe Nessie was real.
Some descendent of Darwin, saying she’s impossible.
I’ll nae have that said about my Highland girl.
Now off you go.
Put your cryptid degree to use,
And walk our lass.
A good twice around the loch should be just the ticket.