The Stan Chronicles


Copyright 2012


The Stan Chronicles


I’m not really sure how it works is Stan my dog or am I his human, something all dog owners ask themselves everyday. I got Stan from a dog rescue centre close to where we live. I had to pay sixty pounds bail to get him out.


It happened like this. I turned up at the dog sanctuary to view a large but shorthaired dog by telephone arrangement. Wrong! Stan is Labrador size with longish brindle fur and multiple attitude issues!


The first meeting was clearly set up. Stan was placed behind a door just like in the UK TV show years ago called ‘Stars In Their Eyes’ where the star guest walks into the auditorium through a doorway filled with white smoke. Bright lights are blazing and very loud music is playing with the gathered crowd going barmy yelping and clapping like a group of half pissed baboons.


The old door was slowly swung open hinges creaked uneasily. In my head I could hear an imaginary drum roll. It revelled a scruffy, disinterested little hard case bedraggled puppy. ‘Well what do you think?’ The young girl assistant said cheerfully. His name is Bruno. At this the puppy walked forward, sniffed my left calf and carefully lifted his rear off side leg and took a pee on my new jeans. To add to the now wet and warm leg I was supporting, taking me again by complete surprise the dog spoke to me in plain English and said. ‘Why is everyone calling me Bruno pal, my name is Stan what’s wrong with everyone around here’. Did I really hear that, did that puppy just talk I thought!


The assistant’s red face showed me she was clearly embarrassed by the whole event and she apologised profusely offering to pay for the cleaning bill if only I would ‘please take the mutt’. Before I had time to reply Stan had opened the door and headed out of the office and into the car park shouting ‘Come on looser I’m starving, which is our car?’ ‘Its not a car it’s a van’ I replied. ‘Ok I’ve got it’ said Stan ‘Just pay the bint off and lets blow this gaff’


The assistant sobbed pitifully, ‘Please don’t leave him here we’ve had enough’.  I can’t believe I am having a conversation with a dog I thought. By now the girl was knelt on the floor pawing at my wet trousers saying ‘Thank you, oh! God thank you please don’t bring him back we can’t take anymore’.


The rest is history and this is where for you the story begins. Well the first two and a half years, lets get going!