make your own stanley

what you will need:
essence of fox
zest of wolf
sloth extract
some bagpipes
a whisk
a balloon
a clock
3m of curly white carpet
a big box with nothing in it
packing tape

Preheat the oven to gas mark 3 (to heat up your dinner while you’re working)
Cut six holes in the big box – one in front, one out back, four underneath.
Place the bagpipes in the box with the four long pipes poking through the underneath holes.
Put the pipe you blow through the back hole.
Put the whisk in the front hole.
Throw in the essence, the zest and the extract.
Wind up the clock and chuck it in.
Close the box.
Seal the box with packing tape.
Blow up the balloon. Draw eyes, nose & mouth on it. Stick it on the end of the whisk.
Cover the box with the curly white carpet.
Have your dinner (sneaking Stanley some cheese when no one’s looking.)

a messy confession

this is a little difficult to talk about
but when I took Stanley walkabout
he unexpectedly squatted
and before I spotted
what was happening
he took a huge dump
like he was a monstrous, liquefied poo pump
or something
his tail a handle for vigorous pumping

oh no no no STANLEY! I cried
yanking a poo bag from inside
my jacket – but really what’s the point
a tsunami of shit all OVER the joint
splattering the vicinity outside a house
like someone criminally and liberally doused
the pavement in a reeking, faecal mousse
because they REALLY didn’t like the housse

but I couldn’t very well just shrug and say fuck it
I ought to go home and fetch a bucket

just at that moment the owner emerged
and stared at the mess poor Stanley had purged

I apologised profusely
that my dog voided so loosely
immediately outside such a lovely home
and what could I possibly do to atone?

don’t worry he said I’ll hose it down
there’s a lot of tummy bugs going round
our puppy was like it the other day
shit happens, man – what can I say?

stan 23

1 The Lurcher is my shepherd; I shall not want.
2 He maketh me to get the lead down and walk him in green pastures: he draggeth me beside the muddy streams.
3 He outdoors my soul: He leadeth me in the paths of excitedness for his games’ sake.
4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of daffodils, I will fear no teazel: for thou art with me (somewhere – who knows?); thy run and thy woof they comfort me.
5 Thou preparest before me for beagle, or Bichon Frises on extension leads; thou annoyest my head with howls; my patience runneth over.
6 Surely dogness and treats shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lurcher forever, and never have enough room on the sofa.

a belief in dog

I believe in dog
primarily because
dog does as dog should
dog sniffs around the neighbourhood
and smells that it is good

in the beginning
was the word
and the word was dog
and he quickly got soggy
because the woods were hellishly boggy
after the floods
but yea was he cleansed with suds

dog the lather
dog the suds
dog the toasty towelling
dog the growling
with pleasure
because verily he doth appreciate a rough towelling
without measure

ah dogs

from Diversions:
dog the chaser
dog the squeaky octopus displacer
dog the cheese grazer
dog the odd and crazy behaviour
dog the lazy snoozer
dog the hoover
dog the chewer
dog the rapturous window viewer
dog the sigh communicator
dog the hole creator
in the sofa
even though
we use a throw
in the hope
it wilt dissuade him
but lo
you know
verily it doth not faze him

from St Stanley’s Epistles to the Bristles:
‘and we didst go for a walk into the woods
and the walk was wet but quite springlike and good
and we didst meet upon the path a terrier called Reggie
and my Owner didst chat unto Reggie’s owner
and didst make this joke:

‘Verily if thou hast a dog called Reggie
then must thou get thyself another dog
and this other dog shalt thou name Ronnie’
and Reggie’s owner did laugh most politely
and move to the side of the path ever so slightly
and the walk didst continue
and the world was made anew
with a tripe stick treat for me to chew’


I’m turning into Stanley
he’s morphing into me
I write in my blog
how my mind is a fog
how I’m sure we’re becoming one big dog
who snoozes
when he chooses
and generally confuses
the basket on the floor for the sofa he uses
the whole thing such a buzz
the dog that is, the man that was

now it’s Stanley going to work, not me
managing quite effectively
only struggling because
he needs hands not claws
to neatly unwrap a pack of gauze
and grizzles a bunch
and wolfs his lunch
in a messy old crunch
and his deadly farts pack quite a punch
but still – I’m just a beginner
humans are ace but dogs are a winner

amazing tails

I can’t wait to tell you all about
the amazing thing I just found out
(quite accidentally)
Stanley isn’t Stanley
not a rescue lurcher but apparently
a traveller from the pet planet Wetnosa
and the reason he spends so much time on the sofa
is he’s busy transmitting secret data
to the bassets and beagles back home in the crater
the great big basket operations centre
topped by a quivering, bone-shaped antenna
receiving all the growls and barks
and collating them into complex charts
looked over by a chihuahua, completely hairless
who acts intrigued but really couldn’t care less

Stanley’s DNA report

Stanley is a mongrel
which means he’s a bundle
of lotsa different things
so this report untangles
a few of those strings:

it says here that he’s
approximately 5 percent cheese
10 percent sneeze
2 percent howl
4 percent scowl
1 percent essence of frustrated owl
9 percent Viking
9 percent liking
the striking
of ridiculous poses
3 percent noses
about 5 percent ruined sofa
it discloses
10 percent paws
like big clawsy loafers
4 percent whiff
2 percent sniff
3 percent wearing his
hair in a quiff
1 percent manly
1 percent Bramley
1 percent ludicrous modus operandi
1 percent the painter Modigliani
twelve percent scraggly
four percent baggly
but essentially
one hundred and ten percent Stanley

sonnet 18 (ish)

Shall I compare thee to a blustery walk?
Thou art more bedraggl’d and more desperate:
Rough shakes do make your owner squawk,
And wonder who the hell hath suggested it;
Sometime too full the clouds of heaven burst,
And oft is thy cold complexion mean;
And every drop from heaven somewhat curs’d,
By forecast or by weather app unseen;
But thy eternal damp fur shall not lieth,
Nor lose possession of that rug thou fowl’st;
Nor shall warmth brag thou art finally drieth,
When from time to time thou quietly growl’st:
So long as dogs take walks inclemently
So long do I, and then give towel to thee

dog fit

Do dogs look like their owners?
Or vice versa?
(in which case
I’m a long-haired
type of inertia)

The reason I ask
is because on the last
coupla walks
I’ve stopped to talk
with a guy out running with his Vizsla
we don’t say much in particzsla
just stuff about the weathzsla

I have to admit they’re a gorgeous pair!
panting and smiling there
jogging on the spot
stretching their hams and whatever they’ve got
totally working the woodland path
like a before and after photograph
both in headbands
fluorescent bibs
rangy legs and sculpted ribs
gold button eyes
hyper expressions
like they’ve only got a half of one second
to spare from their morning workout session
whereas me n’Stanley
on the other hand
shaggy and gangly
slouch across
like two stoned hippies lost
at Glastonbury
wandering into the Wellness Zone
where dogs and owners are brushed & toned
running on treadmills for carbless bones
and we watch and wonder how driven they are
then wander off looking for Shangri-La

But hey
it’s okay
the guy just chose the breed
best designed to meet his needs
active, smart, with a burst of speed
something to help him finally achieve
those cardio-stats and great PBs
all downloaded for social sharing
from the lime green BarkBit bands they’re wearing