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Stanley Ramone: Despite his mellow demeanor, Stanley loves listening to loud punk music and playing the electric guitar. Photo by Nanette Cronk |
CommentsStanley is a Punk Rocker
By Flip SpecklemanPublished: January 15, 2010
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One of the great things about being a dog is that I can’t talk. People can get mad at me, and I can give them sad eyes, put my tail between my legs, or roll submissively onto my back, but I never really have to explain myself. As I was preparing this soon-to-be Pulitzer Prize–winning article, my person let me outside so I could take a pit stop. Now, I’m a pretty reliable guy. I come when I’m called. I usually don’t wander the neighborhood. But on this particular day, I just disappeared. This worried my folks. I’m an older fella now with jacked-up knees, so when I disappear people worry. They imagine me being eaten by coyotes or buried in a tree well. It’s more likely I found a really cool bone or, even better, an unattended barbecue. One time out wandering a few years ago, I came home with an entire raw chicken breast. That was such a great day. Maybe someone saw me outside and took me in and I gave them my patented I-haven’t-eaten-in-days look, and they slipped me some hamburgers or something. I could have been abducted by aliens. Anything is possible. I do know that when one of my two-legged friends saw me sauntering down the street hours after my disappearance, they were pretty relieved. Amazingly, after being “outside” for so long, I was completely dry and, for someone who is “supposed to take it easy,” had no limp. So where does a gimpy dog go in deep snow for three hours? I’d tell you but, like I said before, I can’t talk.
Before my mysterious disappearance, I wandered over to the shelter to check out the hounds. Many of my friends from my last visit have been adopted or have found foster homes. Last month’s featured friend, Harold, is enjoying life in a foster home but hoping for something more permanent. I was checking out the latest additions when I saw a dog who appeared to be the newest member of the Ramones. His name was Stanley, and while I’m not much of a punk rock fan, we decided to take a stroll.
Stanley is about 6 years old, and if my two-legged grandpa saw him, the first thing he would say would be “get a hair cut.” I don’t mind Stanley’s mane. He looks like a Lab crossed with a lion. Stanley is a pretty mellow guy. He was great on our walk, spending most of his time with his nose to the ground. He didn’t seem interested in sticks, balls, or any other silly games. He was happy to cruise down to the Truckee River and get his feet wet. He might have gone for a swim, but we didn’t let him loose from his leash. Stanley seemed very reserved until we met some other dogs on the trail. What seemed like an older, shy pooch turned into a gregarious, bouncing puppy. Stanley loves to meet new friends.
Here are a few other facts about Stanley: He hates having his picture taken. I was laughing so hard watching my person running around in deep snow with a camera trying to capture Stanley’s handsome mug. Another thing is that it’s impossible to find his collar or get his leash off because it disappears into an endless world of hair. It’s a good thing Stanley is patient because it took us about 30 minutes to get his leash off.
After our walk we took Stanley back to the shelter. He wouldn’t take any treats from my person on our walk but he sure was happy to see the pig’s ear waiting for him in his bed. While his shelter mates were yapping and jumping up and down, Stanley was content to chew his treat and relax on his comfy bed. If you are looking for a mature, handsome guy, check out Stanley.
For more info on Stanley or any of the other fine animals at the Humane Society of Truckee-Tahoe, visit hstt.org. Have a great month.
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