amazing grazer

I could just see
Stanley
off in the distance
tugging on grass
with the persistence
of a hungry cow or calf

why, I don’t know
maybe he just chose
to get some roughage
to stimulate retches
(or fancied a rummage
in the grasses and sedges)

he ignored my whistle
so I thought this’ll
definitely need
a different tack
so took out the lead
and walked straight back

I’m not embellishing
when I say he was relishing
every last blade
in that clump
like he was somewhat afraid
he wouldn’t eat in a month

why he does this I don’t know
so I Googled it when I got home
it could be PICA
which sounds close enough
it’s when you get hyper
and eat weird stuff

I clipped the lead on snappily
but Stanley came happily
like a sated alligator
or an unrepentant diner
led off by the waiter
for something really minor

the trouble with grass is
when the thing passes
and you feel insane
dismay without measure
birthing a skein
like a vet with a heifer

from The Song of Stan, stanticle 7

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[1] How beautiful are thy paws with claws, O prince’s lurcher! The joints of thy thighs are supersized, the work of the hands of a prize-winning special effects artist.
[2] Thy belly is protuberant as a goblin’s, which wanteth not for scratching; thy underbits are like an heap of treats set about with squeakers
[3] Thy breath is like a road to nowhere
[4] Thy neck is as a worn beach towel derisory; thine eyes strictly wishful and advisory; thy nose has the power of Lucifer, and ever looketh toward dinner
[5] Thine head upon thee is like a camel, and the hair of thine head like a flannel; nothing much is held in the galleries of thine brain, as we oft are driven sorrowfully to explain
[6] Howl fair and howl unpleasant dost thou, O lord, for the love of God make it stop
[7] This thy stature is like to a rickety clothes horse, and thy vapours to clusters of apes
[8] I said, I will go over the park with thee, I will take hold of the lead thereof: now also from my pockets extract numberless treats, and you shalt take thy fill, and I shalt feed them to thee, bravely, like pine logs through a sawmill
[9] And the roof of thy mouth liketh to whine for thy beloved spot on the sofa, that goeth oft to thy rival Lola, causing the lips of he who hast been too slow again to speak, in fulsome irritation
[10] I am my beloved’s, and his desire is toward me (or any that doth have access to cheese)
[11] Come, my beloved! Let us go forth into the field; let us dodge the horses
[12] Let us get up early to the backyard; let us see if the vine flourish, whether the tender grape appear, and the pomegranates bud forth; failing that, we’ll just go for a walk
[13] Man dogs do give a smell, so our place has all manner of boujee diffusers, new and dried out, which we have laid out for thee. So do your worst, O my beloved.

the paw supremacy

Stanley
should live in Langley
Virginia
in the vicinity of
the CIA HQ
because between me and you
he’s the kinda dog who
they should have on their payroll
because he can play roles
for instance
if you’re insistent
he move from the sofa this instant
he’ll pretend he’s a kind of unwieldy cushion
that no amount of pushing
will budge
then he’ll stare at you hard as a high court judge
till you shrug
and give up
and sit down grumpily on the rug
to watch TV
which is obviously where HE should be
manipulative to the nth degree
but great spy potential if you ask me

Stanley! The Musical

Stanley! The Musical
mostly acoustical
upbeat, therapeutical
sponsored by a pet pharmaceutical

I wasn’t sure about the exclamation mark
I actually wanted a bark
something to grab your attention
and give you the impression
you were in for a treat
all from a dot and a line, which is neat

But I hesitated
it felt premeditated
the title jarred
I think I’m guilty of trying too hard

it’s like when someone says ‘aww – isn’t my dog the CUTEST?’
and you can’t help instinctively disputing this
because it’s a bold assertion
and you hate coercion
no iffs, no butts
especially when it comes to mutts

no dogs

if you must know
mum & dad weren’t exactly sympatico
and as relationships go
their’s went
sixty years a slow descent
into compromise and argument

take dogs, for example
mum liked them on the bed to cuddle
which was trouble
Dad was adamant
a recipe for accident
basically bad dog management

then he died
and mum was suddenly free to lie
with as many dogs on the bed as she liked
(but to be honest
it wasn’t quite the love-in promised;
mum was serially dog monogomous)

then SHE died
after a few more dogs had gone by
their ashes in boxes waiting on the side
which was a predicament
because mum’s preferment
was to take them with her in the interment

I wasn’t around
when four little boxes went into the ground
in the cemetery plot where dad’s to be found
but I have it as fact
thunder cracked
and three of the boxes came flying back

stanley standing

sometimes Stanley just stands
let me expand…

Steve the carpet fitter
stopped by to measure
everywhere the carpet was going
so there was a lot of toing and froing
and expertly showing
what would go where
what we had to prepare
Steve running round with a measuring tape
because everything was old and an odd kinda shape
but honestly Steve was great
worked at an impressive rate
then sat down in the kitchen
to do the addition
plus commission
costing out the whole proposition

Stanley slowly padded over there
and stood right up against Steve’s kitchen chair
his wild and crazy hair
sticking out everywhere
(Stan’s hair, not Steve’s
Steve was pretty much bald I believe)
his right eye a fright
these days almost completely white
so what with the hair and the white eye combi
looking like a lurcher zombie

hello fella! said Steve
Stan neutrally received
the strokes and fuss
like a wonky dog who’d been stuffed by us
and put on castors to wheel out to guests
who were secretly spooked but acted impressed

I’m the dog whisperer – with a twist
more like the dog hypnotist
he said
giving Stan one last ruffle of the head
then straight away turned back to his quote
because he was obviously a focused kinda bloke

and that’s it
sometimes Stan just stands and won’t quit
not until he’s tempted away
if he hears you opening a delicious tray
let’s say
of Cesar Country Stew
or he’s whistled up onto the sofa by you
or we find & squeak his favourite octopus
when his sudden animation is always a shock to us

wuthering stanley

Stanley stares at me with a kind of mania
from the patio garden by the potted hydrangea
and the longer it lasts the stranger it gets
is it food he wants or a trip to the vets?

What is it, Stanley? I implore
as he stands like Heathcliffe out on the moor
the wind whipping through his wispy white hair
accentuating the crazy stare

He truly seems a dog possessed
half bewitched, half depressed
haunted by pets from another dimension
dogs beyond my comprehension

And so, in an effort to bring him in,
I clear my throat and start to sing:

Stanley, it’s me, I’m Jimmy
I’ve come home, I’m so cold
let me in your pet flaaaaap
…

and yep – seems to do the trick
(that, and the wave of another tripe stick)

the balance of stanley

Stanley
as far as I can see
doesn’t have a Plan B
in facts I don’t think plans
feature anywhere on Stan’s
agenda
and I couldn’t recommend a
sweeter way of proceeding
spiritually speaking
Stanley just IS
and anything UnStanley
is frankly none of his biz

take me, today, Monday
slumping down to breakfast, grumpily
shaking out a bowl of cheerios
sighing, putting on the radio
and the next thing I know….

…we need to prepare for a land war in Russia
… media moguls, political corruption
… billionaire boys’ clubs, international recession
…underfunded infrastructure, major disruption
… shrinking glaciers, dying seas
…catastrophic climate emergencies

I mean – please

it’s SUCH a distressing, doom-laden chorus
It puts me off oats in the shape of a torus
(sceptical about these definitions I read to ya?
go ahead and look ‘em up on Wikipedia)

too much info
can get you down, I know
especially if you’re naturally inclined
to psychically combine
bad news into the general feeling
you’re the joker in a pack another joker’s dealing

for balance I look to Stanley
sprawled on the floor behind me
happily gangly
paws over his eyes
and there he lies
and that’s it
and there’s nothing to be done or said about it

so what’s your point? you say
you want us to live like dogs today?
well – not exactly
I think you’re taking this too matter of factly
dogs are dogs, humans human
except on full moons I’m assumin’
but one thing shouldn’t be up for discussion
a lurcher never started a land war in Russia