'Stout, the Dog Whose Heart Was as Big as His Head', the Whole Tale, One Part Audio, Five Parts Video, in May of 2024
'A Legend enduring / About a dog giving / Its tireless all / Amid the Disasters of War'
STOUT
The Dog Whose Heart Was As Big As His Head
On January 26 of this year, 13 days after surgery by Dr. Wesley Clark installed “Little Packy” as a Total Hip Replacement for my left femur, I recorded the whole
of the story below in a series of Quick Time 7 videos, one Friday afternoon into evening, the Aurora district on the West Bank of New Orleans.
Why the call to ‘Stout, the Dog Whose Heart Was as Big as His Head”? Well, then as now in 2024, examples of selfless courage and loyalty equal to love are to be prized.
Dogs have a purity of virtues we can admire. Stout, the model for this story’s legend, was such a fellow. He was the mix enumerated here—a Black Labrador / Pitbull / Rottweiler—and he was (‘he was—he was’) never failing in his giving. He tried to fetch lengths of telephone-pole, about four feet long and two feet round, from the San Francisco Bay. He often inspired questions. “What kind of dog is that? He just doesn’t give up!” My first draft of the story meant to express how big was Stout’s heart came soon after his passing (from disease to his heart!) at a mere six years of age, January of 2003.
Below you’ll first hear about Stout in the imagined region of Lush’le-vold, the County La’lil-La-bar’oo, and the Battle Flood about 700 years ago—when Kings of Angland and Franksez took farmers and townsmen to War—in the great company of musicians in the Rivers Answer Moons Band. Their powers and skills belong to New Orleans and the world: Roger Lewis on baritone saxophone, Kirk Joseph on sousaphone, and Herlin Riley on drums-set. We recorded this sample of “Stout, the Dog Whose Heart Was as Big as His Head”, the story’s first five pages, on August 1 of New Orleans’ hot Summer, 2021, with Rick G. Nelson in Rick’s Marigny Recording Studio.
Then I launch into the five parts of video that I hope will amuse and transport you. “Our dog Stout!” is of course meant to sound like everyone’s reverent affection—their love—for their dog or dogs.
Later today will come offerings of the song “9/11 Is A Big Lie” and ‘The W.E.F. and its W.H.O.’—reminders of our need for courage to combat the 21st-century wars of absurd ‘leaders’ and Banksters.
“Know it as told / In green Lush’le-Vold
A Legned enduring / About a dog giving / Its tireless all / Amid the Disasters of War / …
PRELUDE
Page 1 Know it as toldIn green Lush’le-VoldPage 2 A Legend enduring About a dog giving Page 3 Its tireless all Amid the Disasters of War That tore So many breasts and homes In the continent Eurown’s Armor’d Age of Chivalry.Page 4 Stout was the name That fit him threefold. He was dark like the ale-- Solid as a barrel of nails-- And loyal and brave as any dog, any creature, can be. He was--he was A black Labrador/Pit Bull/Rottweiler.CHANTING begins and rises and fades:
"Our dog Stout--Our dog Stout In the Battle Flood--In the Battle Flood He jumped right in Where no bird could swim He saved his friends, both Witt and Comb Among the drowned and dead He ne’er let up He gave his all He saw no flag He got no pay He saw no King He saw no ring He bit into that beam like it was love Among the drowned and dead He saved his friends, both Witt and Comb Our dog Stout--Our dog Stout In the Battle Flood--In the Battle Flood ….
STORY
Page 5 Near 700 years ago, Our Stout grew up in Brick’l-bee, A town of houses of stone and thatch In the County Lalil'Ba-Bar'oo, Its region of Angland The aforesaid Lush'le-Vold, Its rocks and its greens beside the North Sea, Its coast just one winds-favored day's voyage Away from Brittany and Spearz-- That is, away from Franksez, Angland’s frequent enemy.Page 6 Early in life, whil'st but a wet-nosed pup, Stout was talked about For being silly and for being strong. He wriggled on his back. He punched the air with his paws. He was always smiling. Women bent to pet him. “You big puppy!” they said. Men gave him fond cuffs. “D’ yuh never stop, dog?” they said.Page 7 So lively was Stout that he inspired a song From his master, The blond, blue-eyed, Teen-aged, caber-tossing Witt. “They call him Mis-ter Stout/ He’s always round-about/ He-ee-ee wiggles here/ He-ee-ee waggles there/ He’s like a thir-ir-ir-d knee/ With you in-sep-a-ra-bly.”Page 8 Stout's first renown Came from his fetching sticks and logs That men tossed into the River Peg, His great, anvil-like head (The “boulder on his shoulders,” Witt said To his best friend, Comb, born in Franksez) Steering these Porpoise-long pieces of wood Onto banks of the Peg With his eyes of amber Shining like peat-moss burns.Page 9 Thus our black-coated friend Fulfilled the motto, Live To Serve, That Witt had carved On his dog-house of wattle, daub and stones.Page 10 Then men of Brick'l-Bee-- Of Lalil'la-Ba'roo-- Of all old Lush'le-Vold— Were called by Angland to war Against Franksez.Page 11 “What for?” women said. "What for?" they said with indignation as if being robbed. “What for? More war!" they said. "Again!”Page 12 Some men answered them That this war was about God. “It's always about God! God and the Kings' money! As if whose God is best Could be put to a test!” women said back.Page 13 Some men said it was about land--- About which King and Lords Would control the farmlands That the Folk of Angland and Franksez Worked for them.Page 14 "Well, that's closer to a true mark--- But we know it's above all about pride!" Some women said.Page 15 Angland’s "Decider", crowned as George II the Blue, Son of a victorious War-maker And thus one with something to prove, Sent his draft north to La'lili-Ba-Bar'oo And Witt, lean, strong and blond, Joined his father AlanhaleUnder the Earl of Wickweir.Page 16 At the same time, this new war between old foes And friends compelled Comb's Return to his home country, Brittany. Saying farewell, swarthy Comb and blond Witt Clasped each other’s right hand. Uncertain in their hearts To what passes the future And its sure clashes might throw them.Page 17 Ah yes, the young men remembered much. They remembered contests, Hikes, dashes and talks of lasses-- How they'd learned each to be The other's best companion. Now all that was past and behind. They would be soldiers like strangers Opposed in Battle, Page 18 Sworn and bound to rulers Neither had seen,The afore-heralded George II And Franksez's Albert Gore IV. Witt and Comb each noddedAnd said their fathers' Pledge: "May I see you in peace Before I see you in war."
Page 19 Angland’s Expedition set forth. Footmen such as Witt following wagons, Knights, catapults, archers On Spring’s muddy roads.Page 20 Stout led as mascot For Brick’l-bees’ Dreadnaughts, Always sniffing ahead (“Stout loves the point!”), His virtues of courage, obedience and cheer Right for his part.Page 21 King George’s Army crossed the winds-whipped Channel, Marched between Flounders-Finders’ blooming fields Of grass and tulips and periwinkles, Their sundry dog breeds and mixes of breeds Voicing their company.Page 22 One kind of dog, the embraceable Walla’bee’bass’ounds-- A long, low Dachshund-like "sausage" From Oztriam lowlands, Emitted barks like chirps When lads picked them up, blew into their ears And tickled their bellies, Page 23 While Flam’en’wa'was-- Tiny dancers with a Splanish tinge, Brought by ship from colonial May-hi-co-- Made nice rhythms, Their yipping vociferous, As the beads and bells Around their spindling hocks and pastern Shook and were shaken.
Page 24 Also boon companions were Goomshas,Darts, Mooshkers, and more on four legs, Trotting and scouting beside the marching chants Of farmers-become-soldiers for Angland's King George.Page 25 Here’s a chant---you may know it---from Lalil'la-Ba’roo. The Brick’l-beeans sang with all of Lush'le-Vold: “From the North of Angland come We Men who fear no one We Dread-naught Sons--We Dread-naught Sons For Breakfast we eat Dirt For Lunch we chew our Shirts For Tea we drink the RainFor Dinner we have more Pain We Dread-naught Sons--We Dread-naught Sons So that when it’s time to fight We’ll strike with lusty Bites As hunger makes for Might We’ll slice those fat Franks’ Buns We Dread-naught Sons--We Dread-naught Sons From the North of Angland come We Men who fear no one.”Page 26 Witt sang along with his mates, young and old, And from their camps on hard ground He gazed up at stars, Imagining what he might do-- How he might be--in war without mercy Witt's abiding hope was to avoid A fight with his friend Comb.Page 27 On his side of Franksez, Comb Of swarthy skin-tone, dark hair and blue eyes, Found that his squad from Brittany's Spearz Reminded him of blokes in Brick’le-bee. How they tested, teased and helped one another. How they talked about hunting and Mademoiselles. With these pals--amis--too, Horseplay was the rule and their band their bond.Page 28 The Franks' chants and songs--yes, some called them Chansons--also had dogs accompanying them. Oui!--Oui! Curly-coated Oodles Pranced and danced as if they blew brass! Chin’chin--Cher’oos’ “Arfs” Jingle-jangled like tambourines!Page 29 Comb sang with new fellows, some of them freres. well-met: “We travel roads for King and God (Nous allons rues pour Roi et Dieu) We’ve left our gardens for the good How the earth quakes under our boots! It quakes--it quakes--it quakes and shakes Under our boots!Our grandfathers freed Jerusalem Now we go to smash Angland How the earth shakes under our boots! It quakes--it quakes--it quakes and shakes Under our boots!"Page 29 But rain fell on Comb. On Witt. And on their Armies. Rain fell day after day, night after night. Rain curtained sky. Rain turned and struck as pelting hail. Rain turned to mud the roads under men's rotting boots. Soldiers hardy as turnips exclaimed,"Well, damn this rain. Damn this rain! We're solders, not fish." Mates answered: "Well, we are in Flounders' fields."Page 31 So that when the two Armies met Like clouds gathering for a thunderstorm On Hills beside the River Rhone, Days and nights prior to the Battle Flood, They were drenched to their skins, Aching to their bones, Their hair matted like a lacquer Made from the oil of sardines.Page 32 Once-laughing men and boys Of Angland and Franksez huddled around Fires that they covered with hides in order to keep dry. They growled, snorted, and bit lips as before a fight. “Damn it--goddamn it--let’s get to it!” they said. “Before we drown on our feet!”Page 33 History still inquires Who sent his Army first. Was it Angland’s George II, The heir whose head, some said, Was something like a snake's or a weasel's? Or was it Frankzez’s sloe-eyed and slow-talking Albert the Fourth, Albert de Gore?Page 34 Which of the two, safe on his hill Under rain-drummed tent and rain-streaming marquee,
Wind starting to blow hard, Gave the signal For horns to blare, the Battle Flood to start And bring each Ruler The desserts each knew in his heart he deserved.Page 35 Anyway, downhill in the deluge Foot-soldiers of both Armies surged, Broadswords raised and what armor Each eager fighter wore clanking Downhill,
Stampedes in slow motion of mania To the plain of slick grass beside The swollen, swelling, droplets-pocked Rhone!Page 36 Sure again each charging sides’ roars! Sure again the higher-pitched cries, As these foot-soldiers here First clashed In a seething jumble Of swinging swords and surprised moans!
Page 37 Iron bit into flesh,
Bit into bone, Amid the blows, stabs and slashes Aimed more often than not At the royal-blue Lion And the red Fleur du Lys.Page 38 What could be seen?What could be known? With visors knocked crosswise-- Grunts, curses, groans-- Every one battling was now shape of one form, Mad to live, both massed and alone! Two ones among them Were the friends and lads Whit and Comb.Page 39 Next, the Kings’ Cavalries raced down opposing hills! Knights spurred their steeds! Knights swung their mace, spiked balls And insignia'd broadswords, Their caparisoned horses trampling both foes and cohorts.Page 40 Then archers rained arrows! Manners of catapults Launched loads of hot lead! And arrows and lead fell On both foes and cohorts.Page 41 All this while of furious turmoil, George the Second, Albert the Fourth, Stayed like idols fixed on their mounts, under their tents, Surrounded by their always anxious Courts.Page 42 Dogs wanted to aid their masters’ fights. Up on hills of the onlooking Kings, but naked to downpour, Hundreds of the four-legged companions Yanked at their tethers,
Barked, jumped, ran in crazy circles.Page 43 Flam’en’wa'was hopped with their anklets off-beat! Walla’bee’bass’ounds twisted like sausages askew! Chin’chin’ner’oos’ “arf”ed, Oodles pranced, And one massive Goomsha bit at his stake.,Page 44 Stout--Witt's Stout of Angland, Lush'le-Vold, Lalil'la-Ba-Bar'oo and Brick'l-bee-- Dashed round and round and back and forth To jerk loose his leash, His bark yip-yip-yipping, froth whitening his mouth.Page 45 Still, charges were tried on the bog below. Already rain-blinded, Men and boys slashed as they slogged, Cracking one another’s helmets, Breaking through mud-caked breastplates, Their fatigue slowing their action, They like tired beasts thrashing Under brows of booming thunderclouds, Ponds by them strewn with blood,
Winds-blown trees and branches, and even men limbs, Their whole, turbid tableau now a steaming slew.Page 46 Whilst. on their hills, as before, George II and Albert IV Watched on tiptoe or on his reined horse. (You may imagine who did what.)Page 47 Also--withal--a force greater than Kings, Beyond the sway of dogs and men, The River rose, As Rivers will under rainstorms. The Rhone swelled and itself seethed With the drumming delugePage 48 It was as in a Myth. Like a Giantess aroused past reckoning, The River was driven by wind, her waves Whitecaps, her edges breasting up banks. Under the Rhone, against the Rhone, Sloping Levees made of Castle-walls’ Worth of timbers and earth, mortar and stone, Slipped away.Page 49 And it was GREAT beyond even our imagining! With a roar like the final venting Of righteous anger or other release-- A "ROW-OH-OW-AWH’HRR-R’AGCCH!" The River Rhone—primeval, eternal, SOUNDING— Broke through timbers, mortar, stone blocks, And even earth of its Levees.Page 50 "The River! She’s breaking through!” “The River! The Rhone! She’s come over!" So men’s gasping shouts are still told In green Lush’le’vold and over glasses Across Angland and in Franksez. Page 51 The Flood swept the Battle under its crest! The field's cannon and horses were tossed! And men--however much massed or massive They were in snarled attack, mud-dunned blue and red-- Men were like twigs flushed and ripped from their nests.
Page 52 Stout on his hill saw and heard the event! Mad to help, the dog, the black Labrador/PitBull/Rottweiller, Ran round and round, Still tethered by chain to a stake in the ground. Where was Witt? Where, his memory's recesses may have asked, Was Witt's friend Comb?Page 53 "The River, She acted Like She was heading back for Her-Many!" With its ongoing "ROW-OH-OW-AWH’HRR-R’AGGCH!" The Rhone's Flood cast and carried out One bridge of bulwarks and arches and beams.Page 54 Oh, how, men's shouts in Calamity Sought help from sources most Dear. "God!” “God!” Oh, God!" "My God, What is happening? What’s happening? What Is being done to us here?" Tossed, twisted, submerged, Men cursed like boys too. “God-Damn! God-Damn it’s the River! Bloody River Flood!”Page 55 Then through the “ROW-OH-OW-AWH’HRR …” came: "Comb! Is that you? Stout! Stout, where are you!" Stout’s rain-drenched ears Pricked to be sure what he heard.Page 56 It WAS Witt! Stout was sure! It was Witt calling Comb and Witt calling him! ”STOUT!” “STOUT!” With a wrench of his legs, neck and bull-like torso, The dog af sopping-coat sheen—The Labrador/Pit Bull/Rottweiller-- Yanked up his stake and shook loose the chain From round his anvil-shaped head.Page 57 Stout bolted toward the melee and flood Like a cannonball Hurtling downhill on springs.Page 58 Stout jumped right in! Straight At the surging Rhone and Witt’s shout Stout ran through the curtaining rain. He sprang Into water, broken beams and flailing men, Swords, armor AND earth, for now the River Was like a locomotive train (before there were such trains( Swung sideways and thrashing all over the Battle’s plain. Page 59 Stout’s head bobbed up Miracle itself! Stout’s head emerged in the flooding River. He swiveled that head to know where he had to go.
Page 60 “Stout!” "Stout!" "Good God, Stout, is that you?" Witt’s shouts of awe split the “ROW-OH-OW-AWH’HRR …” Witt waved one hand, His other arm clamping under his shoulder A jagged-end beam broken off from the bridge. His blue-clothed arm bled darker from a slash to the wool, Comb (Comb of Brick’l-bee AND Franksez—
Hugged this beam too, his swart forehead bleeding. “Good Christ! Stout! Look, Comb--it's Stout! Stout 's come to us!”Page 61 How, then, Witt's dog Stout tried! Sucked down, whirled round And thrown sideways, The dog bobbed, twisted and thrust himself At Witt and Comb, Witt coming to hold Comb's head up by its clotted hair, Witt almost passed-out as his instinct clung to the beam.Page 62 A wriggling lunge brought the bite Of Stout’s jaw ino the squared, splintered wood. “God, Stout! Good God, Stout!--you are great!” Was all that Witt could gasp At Stout’s maw and shining amber eyes Now stuck close to him.Page 63 And so the three were swept They knew not where in the Flood— Among crossbows, horses, Sudden corpses Of villagers become soldiers In uniforms sometimes marked With Angland’s Lion or the Fleur of Franksez— The dead dead as salmon, mouths agape and even gashed.Page 64 The horror! The horror! Real shock and awe! Whatever the three tossed and bound To that jagged-end beam met, however, Stout ne’er let go. Legend and song are true. The great dog ne'er give up! Stout clenched in this jaw that piece of wood As if his friends’ life Meant more than his own.Page 65 Then the trio and their beam struck a tree. (So the story is sung and told.)
An Oak so thick and old Rooted so fast and deep, It stood against the River's flood, The Oak’s crown of branches Snagged the jagged-end beam and hence Stout, Witt and Comb as in in a bed. This Oak, standing still in the Valley Rhone, Strong and full, is known as Stout’s Head.Page 66 Impact and new home with the tree Roused Comb from his daze. Gasping, belching out too Gritty, grassy water such as streamed from his nose, The bruised and bloodied Comb blinked—blinked—blinked. Then the lad pledged to Franksez Gripped Stout by the dog’s scruff. Staring and staring, agog like his friend
Comb, they both through Trauma glimposing Mystery,
Comb rocked Stout’s head back and forth.
Witt cupped that head as well. Both friends felt closer to God because Death was still near. "Stout! Stout is here,” Comb said. “And you! How in this Hell can you be here too?" Comb next made a joke, jokes being welcome When Death is near. “This must be the first time,” he said, "a dog has climbed a tree!"Page 67 Witt nodded his blond-whiskered chin
Hard to his chest. “Look at those eyes,” he said. “And we’re going to live!”CODA
Page 68 So it is sung In green Lush'le-Vold, The Region Lalil'Ba-Bar'oo, The Town Brick’l-Bee, Of old Angland, And across the waves in Franksez— Particularly—we can’t say it enough— In Brittany Spearz, nearby Flounders Fields. CHANTING begins
Page 69 “Our dog Stout--Our dog Stout In the Battle Flood--In the Battle Flood He jumped right in Where no bird could swim In the Battle Flood—In the Battle Flood When the Armies broke heads And men cut each other down Rain pou-ou’red like arrows on ‘em And the River Rhone rose and then b’our’st loose With a R’R’R’A’HH’OUU’WWR’R’R’iNG sound
Our dog Stout—Our dog Stout He jumped right in In the Battle Flood--In the Battle Flood Where no bird could swim
Stout saw no Flag Stout saw no King He got no pay He saw no ring With heart as true as his head was big Stout saved his friends, both Witt and Comb He bit into that beam Like it was love And he n’eer let go. He never let up Stout saved his friends, both Witt and Comb Among the drowned and dead In the Battle Flood In the Battle Glood. Our dog Stout—Our dog Stout—Our dog Stout
SINGING arises as the Rhythms of the Chanting continues
Page 70 A heart so true can’nah be Forgot Kings pass away and so do their lies Go forward now—Give—Be glad—Fear no one. Greatness always is won When our love jumps right in When our love jumps right in
CHANT Like our dog Stout---Like our dog Stout In the Battle Flood--In the Battle Flood
Don Paul, first 2003, soon after passing of the Black Labrador / Pitbull / Rottweiler who inspired this story. Revised in August 2015. Voiced for video and the band Rivers Answer Moons on January 26, 2024. Revised again in this May of 2024.
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