The Song of Griffey

Lowtax: "Do you know what people like, Andrew 'Garbage Day' Miller?"

(Six hours elapse.)

Garbage Day: "I have given your question thought, Rich 'Lowtax' Kyanka, and I believe the answer is Sex and the City."

Lowtax: "Close! That's third. Second is air conditioning. First is pet stories. People go apeshit about animals. Say, you could write something about apes shitting, and it would become hugely popular. You have an ape, don't you?"

Garbage Day: "Not anymore."

Lowtax: "Right, sorry to bring that up. But, hey, you have a dog, don't you? Do something about that. I've got a title for you: 'Don't You Hate It When Your Domestic Animal Chews on Your Belongings and Pees Where It Shouldn't?'"

Garbage Day: "Well, I guess I could unfold Griffey's legend, but to do it justice, I'd need to use the epic poem format. Say you 'who is Griffey, tell us of this Griffey?' I should answer your inquiries straightaway in such words as follow."

Lowtax: (Bowed his hoary head in anguish, with a silent nod assented.)

Part I: The Wondrous Birth

In the vale of Henrietta,
On a green Missouri farmstead,
Midst the squinting canine orphans,
Dwelt the bat-faced puppy Griffey.
He befriended nearby chickens
Comfort in their ceaseless squawking,
Ever squawking, ever singing.

And the squinting canine orphans,
You could trace them through the county,
Shipped to children in the Spring-time,
Wilting elders in the Summer.
Griffey lasted until Autumn,
Still surrounded by those chickens;
Nuzzled beaks and bid them farewell,
left the vale of Henrietta,
left the green Missouri farmstead.

Troy, the puppy ranchers dubbed him
Name with proud epic tradition
Greeks bore gifts to siege that city,
Soldiers slew the sleeping city,
Raped and razed that once-proud city,
Not a name for bat-faced puppy.
Christened Griffey, like Ken Junior
Or a mythic eagle/lion
Called by those who know it friendly.

Sing of Griffey,
Sing the Song of Griffey.