Granddad Took Big Strides

I remember running alongside him
as he crossed paddocks,
my face trying to get in front of his,
my legs hitting the ground
four times for every step
of his boots. He would talk,
flail his arms, tell me
what was next, and I'd listen, answer
with that out of breath stilted speech
often my affliction,
until he'd stop. Abruptly.
And we'd collide
or we would be there,
at the next job.
We would be there, he and I and Tip,
the black and white sheep dog
whose tongue hung out
and tail curled around Granddad's boot,
until it was time to race again.