Stanley

the many faces of stanley

~ jim clayton ~ 2 Comments

Stanley suffers from reincarnation
I don’t mean he used to be a chihuahua or dalmatian
or an alsatian
or a mongrel of questionable determination

it’s just – he’s got this range of faces
he uses at all times and places
the scientific basis
for one of the world’s most famous cases

his smiles are holier than Joan of Arc’s
he’s quicker with a lick than Groucho Marx
and his barks
are as sharp as Robert Shaw’s in that film about sharks

he’ll sashay as flashy as Ru Paul
howl like Callas at Carnegie Hall
and then sprawl
hairier and feistier than Asterix the Gaul

his grumbles are grumpier than Immanuel Kant’s
he’ll put the fear on you with a De Niro glance
then he pants
stares as wistfully out the window as Bruno Gantz

but most of the time he’s just Emily Dickinson
an airy, fairly inscrutable kinda citizen
but anyway, listen
we’re learning to cope with his condition

stanley learns a trick

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

I’ve been trying to teach Stanley to give paw
why? I’m not too sure
I suppose in the dog world you can say you’ve arrived
if your dog can stop and give a high five
(although obviously not to each other
if I saw that I’d never recover
next thing you know they’d be riding bikes
reading the paper, smoking pipes
sending emails, voting in May
so – pretty much like Planet of the Apes
except the Apes are Dogs and the people are sick
they ever started teaching them fancy tricks)

who knows
anyway – this is the way the training goes:

I rattle the treat box, take up my position
Stanley ambles into the kitchen
stands there staring at me super warily
as I take out a treat very carefully
hide it in my hand
hold it out and give the command
PAW!
he stares at me exactly the same as before
PAW!
he’s no idea what I’m doing this for
PAW!
no – still not sure
PAW!
staring at me like that fibreglass dog outside the pet store
PAW!
but this time I tap him on the front leg
he lifts his back one instead
I say THANK YOU! and give him the treat

which – yes – I know – is the wrong thing to reinforce
with the inevitable outcome now of course
that I’m training Stanley to be more perverse
so when I say PAW he goes into REVERSE

stanley vs. the horses

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it’s undeniable
Stanley isn’t reliable
when you let him off the lead
it’s pretty much guaranteed
he’ll run away at speed
and be reluctant to come back
even though you holler and hold out snacks
I’m sorry it’s just a fact

mostly it’s okay
there’s a field we go to each day
with plenty of hedges
around the edges
so you can let him off for stretches
and be reasonably confident
when he dashes off on a rabbit hunt
he won’t end up on another continent

he’s well behaved on the lead, though
nose as high as a dog at a dog show
so everyone gets the message
this hound is as clever & impressage
as a horse doing dressage
(ironically enough his nemesis is horses
if we see one we always cut our losses
and calculate some other courses)

Stanley & Lenny

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

yes that’s right another goddamn dog poem
howlellujah, sings Leonard Cohen
watching with sad, sad eyes as Stanley licks his scrotum
not Lenny’s – I mean his
what kind of a poem do you think this is?

what I’m trying to say is
another day is
just beginning
and I’m struggling
to think of something
that rhymes with beginning
sinning?
forgiving?
anything?

but all I’ve got
is a dog with a name that’s not
all that easy to lever
into a poem that hauntingly hangs together
and seems to be talking about something other
than a scruffy dog on a sunny sofa

well – sofa so good
I’d write something better if I could
I wish Lenny were here with his Spanish guitar
to drop Stanley in a stanza about the way things really are
but unfortunately he’s not
so we’ll have to make do with whatever we’ve got
which is Stanley, obscenely snuffling a lot
and some pissant poet losing the plot

this ol’ hound

~ jim clayton ~ Leave a comment

this ol’ hound is proper glitchy
incredibly itchy, unfeasibly twitchy
he harrumphs and garrumphs when he rolls on his back
his big wiry paws paddling then slack
like he’s having a canine heart attack
then he sneezes
freezes
carries on as he pleases

this ol’ hound is proper chaotic
sometimes floppy, sometimes robotic
he runs up the stairs like a rugby team in boots
but he’s sneaky when it suits
creeping round the kitchen to sniff with his snoots
so beware
in there
or you’ll trip and break a hip I swear

this ol’ hound is proper crazy
fifty percent hyperactive, fifty percent lazy
he sleeps so deep you can watch him dream
gamboling through landscapes of rabbits and streams
giant foil trays of doggy supremes
till he wakes with a start
a sad little bark
back to reality with a broken heart

this ol’ hound is proper distracting
it’s impossible to work with the way he’s acting
staring at you long and hard
then marching around the room with a placard
‘Wark!’ (which – you’ll admit – for a dog isn’t bad)
till you crack
fill your pockets with snacks
take him round the park and back