I have this line in my head, and although a great many other ideas occur to me, none of them quite seem to work, so I am left with the line, which may in fact only be a title, or a refrain, and not a line at all. Would somebody put it out of its misery by writing the poem it belongs to: The line is
'Through owning dogs we get to know the woods'
.....

Through owning cats we get to know our settees - except you never own a cat! This is a very interesting thread Freda. Why not blog it? I'm sure you'll get more feedback that way. I've never had a dog. But I might think about your refrain anyway! xx

....though not the woods we would know
if we did not own a dog.

Okay. Here's my dashed off effort. Bit of a comfort zone for me, really. Nature poetry in the form of a strictly-rhymed Shakespearean sonnet, with cheeky use of enjambment. The sort of thing nobody else writes these days (or possibly should).

Owning Dogs

Why would we go there unless we were led;
places that are unthought of, unlooked for?
Only when sense of direction has fled
do we find what makes the rushing blood roar
in beauty’s ecstatic discovery:
this morning’s freshly-wrought mushrooms atop
a tiny mound of peat, soft and mossy;
dew-glistened wildflowers to make the heart stop
as their colours shift with the varied light
of the wind-blown canopy. We should know
not to know where we are going. Delight
is found in the corner of the eye. So
let boots be muddied with newly-found muds -
through owning dogs we get to know the woods.

through the owning of dogs
I get to know the angle,
crack and stain on
each and every flag;
through the dog's
brown stinking mess
I am perforce to stare
and change direction,
for having dogs
is a misconception.

Freda - does Siren's poem hit the spot? I really like it.

Ah, on a similar note can anyone finish the poem I once started with:

Did you hear what happened to Sally,
A decade on and deserted by Harry?

Sounds like a limerick to me Alison!

Simon has taken me more seriously than some. I do like it. 'The varied light of the wind-blown canopy'. Great. Having to walk the dog takes me out into the woods daily, so you see the minute changes. While we were dogless, I didn't go out there much. Should this be on the blog? I don't know.

Confused by all these numbered clubs,
I test some of them on my beagle:
with three I knocked him for a birdie,
with one I hit an eagle.
Through owning dogs we get to know the woods.

small hint of sadism there Dermot?

Simon's sonnet is lovely, and aptly constructs and honours an idea for your thought, Freda. Can't figure why he prefaced his work with a put-down of the form, himself or any other poet who likes it very much. I may make a stab too, on the thought, not the sonnet form. I am yet too chicken to write a sonnet, never mind which kind! I'm studying some right now, for courage.

Its true, in terms of form, that the line I provided is iambic pentameter, or 'five de-dums' if you prefer something more colloquial, and this suggests the sonnet form, (which is fourteen lines of the said iambic pentameter- for those who are wondering.)and of course the sonnet is bit more complicated than that.
On the other hand it doesn't have to be a sonnet. Pope wrote vast swathes of iambic pentameters for example but not many sonnets. They were too short for him.
Personally I am interested in metre and rythm, but not everyone seems keen on the topic.

Thankfully limericks are formed purely accentually rather than classically. That is to say that you recognise them by the overall rhythmic pattern three lines of approximately equal length all rhyming interspersed by a couplet, usually (but not always) of shorter line length. Therefore the iambic pentameters didn't get in my way.

Simon, your comment re 'sonnets' was not a put-down. If anything, it was the exact opposite. What was I remembering to so goof-up your intent! Genuinely sorry.

Well Dermot, we have different experience there, but I bow to your wider knowledge of the form.
My Dad was fond of limericks, but his all had a very strict form. De dum dum, de dum dum, de dum--Never been to Limerick myself, or read about them for that matter. Who is the expert on them?

Sorry Cynthia, not ignoring you. Simon's poem dances over the frame of sonnet form, like he is improvising on it. Dermot's is witty. He and Tommy Carroll and Ray are not fond of dogs, I think. At least my dog gets me out in the woods, instead of huddling over the computer in this weather.

William S Baring-Gould is one expert. And I have been to Limmerick, excellent sausages! Win x

I am not sure why you think folks are not taking this seriously? Different minds with daft ideas can produce something different, "something new" to quote another discussion. You might think me not taking it seriously, too.

Through owning dogs we get to know the Woods
Patch squatting by their gate, leaves behind some ‘goods’
Flourishing a plastic bag, I bend below the wall
Pretending that I’ve cleaned it up, I fail to scoop it all
Mrs Wood soon cottons on, chases after me
You’ve missed a bit come back, she cries, quite cantankerously
I didn’t think you’d want the lot, smilingly I say
Then hand to her the plastic bag, and carry on my way.

Ah well, it cheered me up to write it and I am grateful for the chance to be a bit daft for a while.

You are right to pick me up on 'seriously' I withdraw it. As I have not written the rest of it myself I can't rule out other folks responses.