Dog

 

Spot ‘The Dogs’ by John Hughes that premiered in ‘Ulysses’. James Joyce (Telemachus): “- Ah, poor dogsbody, he said in a kind voice. I must give you a shirt and a few noserags. How are the secondhand breeks? – They fit well enough, Stephen answered.” John Hughes: “- Ah, poor copycat, he said in an unkind voice. I will give you a phrase and a few hardy hahas. How are the secondhand lines? – They fit well enough, Stephen said.” James Joyce (Proteus): “A bloated carcass of a dog lay lolled on bladderwrack.” John Hughes: “A blunted carcass of a dog that once laughed out loud lay a bloody wreck.” James Joyce (Proteus): “A point, live dog, grew into sight running across the sweep of sand.” John Hughes: “A pointer, a lively dog, was quite a sight running across the sweeping sand.” James Joyce (Hades): “Dogs’ home over there. Poor old Athos! Be good to Athos, Leopold, is my last wish. Thy will be done. We obey them in the grave. A dying scrawl. He took it to heart, pined away. Quiet brute. Old men’s dogs usually are.” John Hughes: “Dogs’ loan over there. Poor old Bathos! Be good to Bathos, Leopold, is my least wish. Thy will be done. Words disobey us in the grave. A lying scrawl. He copied it by heart, pined away. Quiet brute. Old men’s dogs usually are.” James Joyce (Cyclops): “The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of him would give you the creeps. Be a corporal work of mercy if someone would take the life of that bloody dog. I’m told for a fact he ate a good part of the breeches off a constabulary man in Santry that came round one time with a blue paper about a license.” John Hughes: “That bloody mongrel let out growls that would give anyone the creepy-crawlies. It would be helpful if someone took the life of that awful dog. It’s said he bit the bum of a policeman in Santry who came over issuing notices for dog licenses.” James Joyce (Circe): “(With regret he lets unrolled crubeen and trotter slide. The mastiff mauls the bundle clumsily and gluts himself with growling greed, crunching the bones. Two raincaped watch approach, silent, vigilant. They murmur together.) THE WATCH Bloom. Of Bloom. For Bloom. Bloom. (Each lays hand on Bloom’s shoulder.) FIRST WATCH Caught in the act. Commit no nuisance. BLOOM. (Stammers) I am doing good to others. John Hughes: “(The dog eats the food. Watchmen enter.) THE WATCH Bloom. So it is. Old shortlist Bloom. (Each lays hand on Bloom’s shoulder.) FIRST WATCH Caught in the act. Commit no plagiarism. BLOOM. (Stammers) I am doing good to others. It was unintentional. I accidentally found the book. It was under a copy of ‘Sweets of Sin.’ On my word as a gentleman. Most of it’s me, only some stuff is Joyce. They still haven’t found the bits I ripped off from Agatha Christie. There’s some Roald Dahl in there as well somewhere.

https://www.theguardian.com/australia-news/2022/jun/15/parts-of-john-hughess-novel-the-dogs-copied-from-the-great-gatsby-and-anna-karenina 

Dog (June)

A dog catches my eye. The dog leaps from its owner’s lead, legs stretched then collected, feet touching the ground forward into a future where Rosanna Parklands is dirt tracks and long grass forever; races a bird or spies another dog or is out of the house at last, unleashed. The dog’s white-and-black markings shift like June clouds as muscles extend and contract, dodge or sprint. Jumps over trees that, cut or fallen, lie where they’ve lain for years in settled woodlands, then curves away, or else I curve, my train window and my eyes leaving the dog chasing behind.

Dog (October)

In a dream we walk through rivery landscapes of blues and greens, like Bohemia. We live in a large house. The rooms are like October. Word arrives about a gigantic and very dangerous dog rampaging everywhere, spreading terror. We stay indoors. One day this same dog (some people call him a dragon) enters our front door. We hide on top shelves and stairwells, but notice that the dog bumps into walls, has no sense of direction, and only wants to eat bags of crisps found in the pantry. This harmless dragon is taken to the river. He wanders off aimlessly.

Dog (April)

Non-dog people are reminded through social media everywhere is dogs. They leap up eagerly on Facebook profiles. Memes bound this way and that, enthusiastic with dogs of puns. Photographers maintain benign canine galleries while owners run slide shows of dog moods. It’s exhausting, baffling even, for non-dogs. April is the coolest month to observe dogs, away from the screen. Their irrepressible charge when nearing the park. Their remarkable patience when waiting on call. Their intuitive noises when watching the scene. Their autumnal grace when lolloping full speed. Their occasional disgrace when snooping near bushes. Sometimes, understanding starts to seep in.

Dog (August)

The hunter or the hunted or neither, he appears from the undergrowth, eyes forlorn or storm, stoop speedy then languid; accidents can happen, or not; he has tail in the air ready to rise to an occasion; and four feet tiptoe that leap as one at a flying ball.

Descended from the wolf, she is contour-shaved and curl-primped, parades from carpet to paved patio, but it’s too cold; retreats neatly petitely indoors again for the couch cushions, their embroidered sylvan patterns a reminder of a time she cannot quite summon up.

The calm within the rowdy confines of peakhour carriages is the seeing-eye below the seat of her blind mistress, waiting for the slightest footstep near, movement of walkingstick, or sign of sentience; waiting all well for their stop, their suburb of puddled usual footpaths.

The composer of several hundred symphonies, so many collections of biting thoughts with imprints everywhere, importantly he sniffs around the café chairs for leftover croissant; his head markings like a beret, he wrote the book on canines, answers to Anthropos.

Stretching everywhere on his back, limbs sketching the raw points of a constellation, Blue rolls to a stand, shakes thought back into place, eyes the August blossom, and is free as a bird until thirst starts or food calls or sleep wondrous helper beckons again from the basket.

Why, empathy with owner is contagious, so the dog yawns as owner yawns, smiles if owner smiles, leaps to attention when owner budges an inch; empathy that has them together power-walking swiftly across the park, damp as it is; empathy that only one side tests with a system of charts, or questions.

And when they go away under the table, moan in the corner of moon, get under the feet and under the radar, then instead of that lasting they turn time into fun, of a sudden show up with the lead in their mouth pacing for a run, are out in it where hair waves free in the wind and sun.