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162 pages, Kindle Edition
First published March 23, 2015
- Why don’t you name him?
- You think we should keep him?
- Why not? Once he gets better he can keep you company during the day.
- Okay. Why don’t we call him Lord Jim?
- You want to name him after the world’s most boring book?
- If I wanted to do that, I’d call him Golden Bowl.




When Zeus discovered what his sons had done, he sent for them.
– How could you have been so cruel? he asked.
– Why cruel? asked Apollo. Mortals suffer. What have we done to make their suffering worse?
– He’s right, Father, said Hermes. Wipe them out if you don’t want them to suffer.
– They suffer within their own bounds, said Zeus. These poor dogs don’t have the same capacities as humans. They weren’t made to bear doubt or to know that their deaths will come. With their senses and instincts, they’ll suffer twice as much as humans do.

It would have been different if we’d given cats this so-called intelligence, said Apollo.
– It would have been exactly the same, said Hermes. What we should have done was give a human the intelligence and capacities of a dog.
The grass is wet on the hill.
The sky has no end.
For the dog who waits for his mistress,
Madge, noon comes again.

Apologue (ap·o·logue \ˈa-pə-ˌlog, -ˌläg)
— noun:
an allegorical narrative usually intended to convey a moral
The poems in Fifteen Dogs are written in a genre invented by Francois Caradec for the OULIPO. It was invented after Francois Le Lionnais, a founder of the group, wondered if it were possible to write poetry that has meaning for both humans and animals. In Fifteen Dogs, each poem is what Caradec called a 'Poem for a dog'. That is, in each poem the name of a dog will be audible – to the listener or to the dog – if the poem is said aloud, though the name is not legible.
Longing to be sprayed (the green snake
writhing in his master's hand),
back and forth into that stream –
jump, rinse: coat slick with soap
Hermes's thoughts turned to Prince. How odd that such a perceptive creature had imagined the death of a language would mean the death of its poetry. For the immortals, all true poetry existed in an eternal present, eternally new, its language undying. Having once been uttered, Prince's verse would live forever.