dogs

The Lurcher

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

(with sincere apologies to Wm. Blake)

Lurcher, Lurcher, burning bright,
In the living room tonight:
What immortal hand or eye
Will fling the nearest window wide?

On what polluted rugs or sofas
Burns the fury of thine odours?
On what lap dare he aspire
To lift his tail and ease the fire?

And what mouldiness, & how tart
From the twisted sinews of thy arse
And when thy guts begin to heat
What dread sound? & what dread squeak?

What the clamour? what the screams,
In what furious, faecal dream?
What fresh hell? What dread gasp
When supine canines spritz their arse?

When the stars threw down their treats
And walked the earth’s first lurcher sweet:
Did God smile his work to see?
Did He who made The Nose make thee?

Lurcher, Lurcher, burning bright,
In the living room tonight:
What immortal hand or eye
Will fling the nearest window wide?

lonesome lurcher blues

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

how loudly stanley lies
overwhelmingly oversized
the opposite of enchanting
railing and ranting
balefully commanding
the awful acoustics of the upstairs landing
doggedly distraught
dismal as an astronaut
who just missed blast-off
flat as a fur coat a countess cast-off
clamorous as a diva
in need of anaesthesia
tossing back a slug of the milk of amnesia
dire as a gloomy, doomy choir
who hired a coach but the coach was a liar
manifestly mourning
like an underpaid pallbearer over-performing
a sad-sack cerberus, gruesomely throwing some
hades-grade shade totally going some
a dog-shaped fog-horn making you aware
of the hazardous drop to the rocky stairs
an amorous yeti lamenting the loss
of another sherpa who didn’t give a toss
howling the blues like a superstar
all he lacks is a hat and guitar
sounding so mournful you gradually well up
and a walk’s the only thing that’ll shut him the hell up

why stanley why

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

why stanley why
do you endlessly strive
to tunnel and dive
nose-first through the sofa cushions
frantically pushin’
slag heaps of stuffin’
in brute pursuit of a canine macguffin
well thanks for nuffin’

your efforts show
those throws we chose
as part of our dog-proofing manifesto
were laughably hopeless
threadbare pet care hocus pocus
cute but unfocused
buying just two of ‘em almost broke us

I mean – c’mon stanley – what’s the rap?
are you REALLY saying dogs can’t nap
without their paws in a dog dug gap
or is it all just strictly business
to see how quickly a dog digs through this
hot dog hubris
why in dog’s name do you DO this?

to what end?
my curious, furious friend
TO WHAT END?

a lovely lil’ lurcha from Londin Tahn

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

‘ees … a lovely lil’ lurcha from Londin Tahn
sleeps all day on the undergrahn
riding the escalators up n’ dahn
a lovely lil’ lurcha from Londin Tahn

so…

wag yer tail
gnash yer teeth
march on the spot like a hairy chief
if yer see the king
wait a bit
lurchas don’t care ‘baht any of it

‘ees… a lovely lil’ lurcha from Befnal Green
big belly grumblin’ like a washing machine
breath that’ll turn yer a shade o’ green
a lovely lil’ lurcha from Befnal Green

and it’s….

lick yer balls
sniff yer snaht
make a bad smell like a brussel spraht
if yer see a tory
bark and fret
he ‘ain’t seen a tory he likes much yet

‘cos…. ‘eeeeees…… aaaaaaaa

lovely lil’ lurcha from Pimlico
acts like a bear, sounds like a crow
I phoned up Crufts – did they want him? (NO!)
a lovely lil lurcha from Pimlico

so

pick yer scabs
lick yer arse
focus on the crocus in fits n’starts
raise yer leg
pee n’ poo
put the WC in WC2

caaaahhhhs eeeees aaaaaaaaa

lovely lil’ lurcha from Londin Tahn
sleeps all day on the undergrahn
riding the escalators up n’dahn
a lovely lil’ lurcha from Lon…DIN TAAAAAAAAAHHHHNNNNN

(cough)

Fanks a lot.
Fanks.
Please. No more biscuits – me collar’s gettin’ tight

something in the air

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

the patient I’m visiting – Valerie
sits in a room the size of a gallery
stiff as a bored security guard
or a life-like exhibit called ‘life is hard’

I say : your house is pretty colossal!
yes, she says, it used to be a brothel
which explains all the architectural quirks
the rooms where all the girls used to work

just then her staffie, Rick, runs in
dragging a teddy bear after him
the teddy is easily twice his size
matted, with a desperate look in its eyes

Rick drops the teddy and straightaway jumps it
arches his back and starts to hump it
Rick! snaps Valerie – then to me:
something in the air, unfortunately

one man and his … where’s my dog?

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

let’s make one thing clear
it wasn’t MY idea
to go on the walk
in fact I baulked
when I looked outside and saw the weather
the rain had stopped raining the water was draining but whatever
you’d have to say it was still pretty soaking
if you’re thinking of exercise you must be joking
so I’d have preferred to defer the whole thing
but no
Stanley plainly wanted to go
whining and mithering like a so-and-so
so
I finally conceded
speedily clipped on the lead and proceeded

but was he happy?
basically
no

over the fields he acted distracted
like a haunted dog that could only be contacted
by ouija board or canine shaman
‘cos I kept on calling his name and
clearly it was having zero effect
no rapport, no connect
between master and dog, man and beast
I mean – he could’ve given me a nod at least
but every sniff was a full blown retreat

when we finally made the hill
he kept on hanging back until
I was forced to march up the slope to fetch him
like ten minutes walking had over-stretched him
I mean maybe something else upset him
but WHAT?
the nearest dog was just a dot
on the horizon
I was none the wiser
and neither
was Stan
he didn’t even want the treat in my hand
deaf and blind to all my whistling
stubbornly resisting
any attempt
to tempt
him on
if I hadn’t run back and fastened the lead he’d be gone
who knows where
to a land of lost lurchers somewhere
over the rainbow
where bluebirds fly and dogs just lie all day in the window
staring out mournfully
sniffing at tripe sticks scornfully
like he’s treated despicably
till predictably
I give in and take him for a walk
and for no apparent reason he cuts it short

fine
next time
I’m totally getting a cat
nobody talks about walks and all that

lightning stan

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

by the feel of it we’re in for a storm
Stanley’s lying out on the lawn
I show him the lead; he shows me a yawn

same
this humid weather drives me insane
it feels like I’ve got a sponge for a brain

I say c’mon stan
reluctantly he stands
a petulant pet obeying commands

the walk’s a drag
a bit of a fag
air, bees, flowers – everything sags

I’m irritable, itchy
the horses by the gate look twitchy
everything, even the light feels glitchy

all at once a thump of thunder
gods in heaven bumper to bumper
(I’m way too hot to think of a metaphor)

a restless stirring in the air
talons of static everywhere
Stanley trots on, doesn’t care

I mean – sure he’s deaf
dodgy right eye, cataract left
but that’s the nose of a michelin chef

can’t he smell a storm a-comin?
can’t he taste the air a-thrummin’?
(why does he think we’re suddenly runnin’?)

the valley of the vet

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

it’s quite a test
getting Stan to the vet’s

here we are
trying to coax him into the car
which I have to say is no mean feat
when the car’s a mini and the dog’s a sheep
we can’t even tempt him in with treats
the vet said nil by mouth
but without
something delicious
Stanley’s suspicious
tries to swerve us
not a little nervous
resisting with fervour
(standard behaviour
for your average lurcher)

but if getting there’s a little problematical
emerging at the surgery the change is radical
Stanley a wholly other kinda animal
moody and tragical
sturdy and static
moodily dramatic
standing in the stressy waiting room traffic
including
an Italian Greyhound exuding
all the control and canine restraint
of the well-trained puppy she patently ‘ain’t
bouncing around
four paws off the ground
because being there frightens her
or the owner’s feeding her helium to lighten her
or gravity simply doesn’t apply to her
Stanley gives her a soulful look
like a priest with a paw on the holy book
Yea, though we bark through the valley of the vet
we will fear no evil and hopefully get
a treat or two when the deed is done
and they slip on our harness and lead us home

the very reluctant walker

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

it’s early in the morning
and I’m standing here, yawning
by the back door
stalling
halfheartedly calling
for Stanley to come crawling
from where he’s currently sprawling
like a starfish on Xanax
or Jean-Paw Marat in a house of wax
hanging out the bath after fifty whacks
dramatically slumped
fatally bumped
not at all zesty, the flipside of pumped
canine flatline, doggie defunct
a string-cut puppet, totally junked
carelessly dumped
on the sitting room sofa
a laid-up,
paid-up
free-style loafer
at the kinda
insider
trade show you go for
the slacker campaigns you’re totally known for
lifestyle guidance, juicy hacks
to flip your potential and loaf to the max
innovative ways to recline and relax
the apostate
of agitate
the kinda mind
even Frankenstein couldn’t animate
numero zero
zilch pzazz
the nap in snappy, the Zees in jazz
giving it nearly everything he has
which isn’t really an awful lot
and is he ready for his walk yet?
(no, he is not)