Round the Herne

 It was International Dog Day recently (who on earth actually decides these things?) and I was going to record a story, but work got in the way. So here is a belated account, my version of the final Labour of Herakles where he must acquire the giant dog Cerberus and bring him to the court of his mealy-mouthed cousin King Eurystheus. For the literary among you this is a katabasis tale (the journey into Hades) followed by an anabasis one (the return to the living). I'm sure you are glad to know that.

 Happy 2025 to my followers (both of you). This is m y reading (apologies for the rasping throat, recovering from a mild infection) of H P Lovecraft's florid tale of "The Hound" (1924). The book was a Yuletide gift from a close friend who knows my literary tastes. The two central characters of this tale (St John and the unnamed narrator) put me in mind of the wealthy adolescent murderers Loeb and Leopold who abducted and killed a child to prove their own intellectual superiority in 1924. That said, this story was written a couple of years before the crime took place, so they were clearly not the inspiration for Lovecraft - though maybe he had met people very much like them within his social circles. When my throats recovers, I might record a few more of the shorter stories.

  My reading of the fourth and fifth chapters of Kenneth Graham's children's book "The Golden Age" (1895). The narrator has an encounter with a neighbour and then his sister's dolls spring into imaginal life.

 It being St George's Day, I decided to record a story about a dragon - this one from Biscerne, battled by the local squire Sir Maurice Berkeley. The fate of the dragon is very reminiscent of a lot of stories where a magical or divine being becomes part of the landscape. It would be a fascinating topic for a book, if someone has not already written such a thing. I've never seen Bolton's Bench to know if the shape inspired the legend or if it stems from other sources - the photograph is not especially suggestive, but perhaps this is the result of changes over time, farming practices etc. Who knows what the hill looked like in the 15th century?

 This was meant to be uploaded for National Dog Day two days earlier, but life got in the way with other stuff. A shisa is an ornamental dog found in Japan and China that acts as a guardian - they stand either side of a door or gateway, one with its mouth open and the other closed. There is some variation as to what the mouth means, but one chases off malevolent forces whilst the other keeps the good forces within the home. The shisa does not seem to be associated with a specific breed of canine, and (as per the one in this story) is more magical than zoological. Given that the power of the bark is often in inverse proportion to the size of the dog, it would not surprise me if the shisa is some kind of terrier. I could not identify which Japanese emperor this story is supposed to happen to, but it may be more apocryphal than historical anyway. Looking at photos of Gana-mui Woods, I think I may have somewhat exaggerate the size of the boulder. Though i anyone asks, I shall simply sa...

 This was recorded back in February as a practice for a group storytelling at the Leaping Hare convention in late March. Meant to upload it weeks ago, but forgot. It is based on the tale of how Fionn's son, Oisin, is drawn to Tir na nOg, Land of the Ever Young, for love of  a mysterious woman and how he finds the world much changed upon his return. The encounter with Bishop Patrick is much as it is in the original version, though told with a definite sympathy to the pagan viewpoint. 

 My spin on a Hindu myth (really more of a fusion of several different versions) about the deity Khandoba who rides out with his two wives Mhalsa, lined to the merchant caste, and Banai, linked to the ancient shepherding caste, to battle two demonic brothers intent on carnage. The version I have opted for here shares much with one of the stories told of Kali. The devourer of demons, in this particular story, is Khandoba's dog. Unfortunately I have not yet been able to track down a name for this magnificent beastie, but if any Hindu readers are aware of it, please let me know. Today a new dog has become part of my life, renamed Bronntanas (Irish for "gift", and he is assuredly a gift from my old boy Gwynn). Bronn is a big old Malamute with the most beautiful eyes and I am sure he could flatten a few demons if the mood took him - so this story is to welcome him in to my life and into my circle. I was going to try and get him to appear in the video, but he is a bit camera sh...

 As some readers will already know my dear old dog Cafall passed away Tuesday earlier this week after a godawful visit to the vet. He was very old and doddery, but has left a huge gap. Considering how much of the last couple of years he spent asleep, the silence is pronounced and difficult to live with. He was named after King Arthur's dog from Welsh legend. So as a memorial to him, I have recorded a shortened version of the account of how seven monstrous wild boars laid waste first to Ireland and then to Wales, causing a variety of significant landscape features, before being dispatched by the warriors and war dogs of Arthur. Some authorities regard this as a metaphor for a brutal warband that came over from Ireland and caused mayhem, whilst others think this is a more mystical tale reflecting an ancient tradition about the hunting of a sacred boar. The paw print stone was observable in the Victorian era when Lady Guest sketched it - though I am not sure if it is still around toda...

 This is a day late, but... here's a story to mark International Dog Day. It's an Armenian myth told about their famous King Ara, given the sobriquet "the Handsome". Such was his charm that the famed Queen Shamiram of Assyria (also called Queen Semiramis) fell obsessively in love with him - the kind of passion that the Greeks used to warn so strongly against. Ara, for reason not made clear, would have none of it. Maybe he simply did not fancy her (though when it comes to royal alliances, sexual attraction is seldom a consideration), maybe he had eyes only for another, maybe he just didn't want to become part of her ambitious schemes. Who can say? Nonetheless, Shamiram would not take no for an answer and waged a war to capture him and force him to her bed. Which rather takes stalking to a whole new level.  If you are wondering what any of this has to do with dogs, they do not appear until the end of the story and you will just have to listen to find out quite what ...

  My reading of the sixth story from Ruth Manning-Sander's children's anthology "A Book of Magic Animals" (1974), entitled 'The Small-toothed Dog'. This is basically a British version of Beauty and the Beast with a canine twist. Stories of this trope have come in for some stick in recent years as normalising abusive relationships, giving young girls the fancy that if only endure plenty of beastly behaviour eventually their future husbands will turn int handsome princes. Whilst there is undoubtedly a tendency for people to believing that infinite patience will turn vindictive curmudgeons into romantic figures (an ideal that cuts across gender lines), it seems unfair to blame fairy stories for pushing such an agenda. Colette Dowling blew that idea up out of all proportion and made a mint with her "Cinderella Complex". A Jungian reading would see Beauty and the Beast not as two separate people but as differing aspects of the same person. Whereupon it be...

 This is my version of the traditional German folktale, included by the Brothers Grimm in one of their collections, about how four elderly farm animals try to start a new life away from the farm and form a musical band. There are a number of versions of this story from around the world, sharing both the comedy elements and also reflections on the ingratitude of humanity.  As well as having something to say about the way animals are maltreated, there is doubtless a hint here of how many downtrodden labourers and servants probably felt about the way they were treated by high-handed employers. How often are people worked to exhaustion and then cast aside as no longer being viable "units"? The statue in the photograph is to be found in the city of Bremen, where is exudes more talent and charisma than many a pop band.

Below is a poem written in the Welsh cywydd llosgyrnog metre as an honouring of Gwynn app Nudd, the medieval name for the King of the Fairies in Welsh folklore. For some of us at least Gwynn is a later understanding of an Ancient British deity whose name has survived on some altar stones from the Romano-British period, Vindos or Vindonnus (possibly two separate beings, but my intuition is that they are different titles for the same entity). I'm not sure who the artist of the inset picture is - cannot find a name as yet! As per the explanation given in my reading of it in a YouTube recording linked at the bottom of this page (and yes, I know I misread one of the words but I don't have the time at the moment to re-record it properly), the story contained in the poem has its roots in the hagiography of a 7th century monk - the manuscript of which dates to the 1500s. The monk, Collen, sets up his hermitage on an island in the flood plains of Glastonbury that is already owned by Gwy...

This Saturday evening from 7.30pm onwards at the Oddfellows Hall on the High Street, December 14th, I'll be dressing up like a loon (an 18th century loon, to be precise) to regale people with Suffolk stories and legends whilst in the persona of the mysterious Old Winter, the cunning man of Ipswich mentioned in a number of historical texts. Tickets are £5, with profits going to the Dogs Trust. Mike, owner of King of Cups brewery, will be retailing wines, mead, and other beverages for the discerning imbiber. There will be a mince pie or two as well. You can pay on the door or order your tickets in advance. Feel free to circulate the details to anyone you think may enjoy attending.

I recorded this in 2017 and was convinced I had uploaded it to the blog, but it seems that I haven't. It is a section from a Hindu epic involving the five Pandara brothers (who I have mentioned in another story elsewhere, told at the request of an Indian subscriber to my YouTube channel) depicting the devotion and loyalty of the dog... who turns out to be a great deal more than a four-legged friend. Nepalese Hinduism has an entire festival in November devoted to the dog, Kukur Tihar, which I have mentioned previously on this blog. When I told my hound about it he demanded a day or worship with a flower garland and a feast - typical!

My husky's ashes came back from the crematorium yesterday and will be interred after a suitable plant has been found to the garden centre today. This story is mostly therapy for me (the research into it has also kept my mind occupied), but also might prove off interest to other canophilists. The Chukchi people are an ancient tribal group living in the far north-east of what is now Russia, and one of their claims to fame is having bred huskies for some 3000 years now - hence my decision to record one of their dog stories. Unfortunately I have found it nigh on impossible to dig up such a story, just anecdotal scraps about their mythology and how certain themes recur in many different cultures - Yuri Berezkin's research was very helpful in this regard, along with a book by Yuri Rytkheu. Quite a lot of tribes have stories of otherworldy rivers composed of curious substances, with a number of references to seven rivers (though I could not dig up a reliable account of what all se...

My 18-year old husky (pictured snoozing on holiday a couple of years back) died yesterday morning after suffering a very debilitating stroke that robbed him of his ability to walk. He was my friend and companion for nearly two decades in good times and bad and seeing him fall so very ill and die broke my heart. I miss him. I wanted to tell a story about huskies from Chukchi lore (the tribe that have been breeding snow dogs for 3000 years) and have looked into a few obscure myths, but the detail is scanty and my ability to create is at an all-time low (and it was never that high to start with). I include below a poem for him, which unfortunately uses rather forced rhyme due to my inability to come up with anything better. It is followed by another poem written to commemorate Gwynn by Terry Stannard-Smith. For my Boy Gwynn Blue the eyes that held my heart, Closed now – darkness veils with sleep, How long shall we be apart, Till once more our meeting keep? Your empty...

This poem comes from the Ingoldsby Legends collection, and exists as a somewhat odd counterpoint to the mournful Power of the Dog poem by Rudyard Kipling. Like that, this is inspired by the death of a dog but takes a comedic route and provides the poet with the opportunity to take a swipe at the funeral practices of the great and good.

I posted a written version of the Grandfather Frost poem last December, but hadn't performed it anywhere till Pooka's Pageant a few weeks ago in Ipswich. This poem is in a metre of my own devising and acts as a whimsical response to the familiar Night Before Christmas-style poems that are popular at this time of year. It combines elements from Russian and Slavic paganism (where Ded Moroz, Grandfather Frost, is a prominent archaic figure who brings in the winter snows) with a nod or two to William Joyce's children's fiction. I seldom write poems or tell stories for children (all the adverts on TV keep telling me to keep away from children, so I do), but this is one of the rare occasions when I've produced something vaguely suitable.

Heard the sad news today that a husky owned by friends of mine has passed away from health problems. Dogs are family and their loss is always keenly felt. So here is a short story, in a format common to a number of first nations in North America though this is my version rather than one completely specific to a particular culture, to remind us of how important dogs are in human evolution and survival. A number of comparative psychologists and zoologists have suggested that, in the long-lasting relationship between canines and humans, it may well have been the dogs who made the first move and gradually tamed us. If you love a dog or hold fond memories of one in your heart, remember to help out those shelters and charities struggling to look after the ones that humans have let down through their frequent shittiness- donate some food, some time, some money, or adopt a beast in need of a new pack.

Had a lovely trip to the Vajrasana Buddhist Retreat in Suffolk with the students today - stunning statues and a wonderfully tranquil courtyard garden. Wish we'd had time to stay longer. Helped to stop me stressing about a very elderly dog who was under anaesthetic for extensive dental work (he survived and is sleeping soundly as I type). Anyway, here's an end-of-term semi-conscious meander through ideas building around Nietzsche's concepts of the Master-Slave dialectic and developing beyond it to what I consider a more balanced polytheist/animist approach (with some inspirational help from economic theorist Jane Jacobs and American philosopher Lester Hunt). Oh, and for those of you missed the kitchen videos, we're back to baking!