The Barnaby Chronicles



Barnaby, King of Wood, talks with John Lennon about 
the Beatles and the Japanese Witch.


Author's note:   I should tell you that Barnaby is as Buddhist reincarnated as a basset hound, which he likes, and, that he talks. He doesn't actually speak aloud. He's a practitioner of mental telepathy. When these vignettes first started popping into my head, I thought I was dreaming this stuff. Then, one day the light bulb of recognition flickered on!  Barnaby was sitting at my feet. He looked at me with those soulful eyes and said, "No Shit Sherlock. Ya finally figured it out."





Barnaby, King of Wood
as told to Tom Sanders

I guess it must a been late 60's early 70's. John and me, we're backstage in the VIP lounge, drinking beer and sharing a joint. We've been friends dating back to Liverpool. Long enough I figure I can express myself without reservation.

 So I says, "What's with you and this bird, Yoki? "
"Yoko, damn it, her name is YOKO! YOKO ONO." John says, irritation obvious in his voice.
 "Yoko, Yoki? What's it matter? Pancho?" 
"Cisco?" John replied.
"Yooookoooo!" We recited together.
 I had john laughing, though not for long. 
"You're not serious about this...?"
 Even as I asked the question, it dawned on me that he was. He really was serious. He'd been suckered in by a fake, a manipulative bitch she was.

I was making John angry. He had a hair trigger temper, but I was determined to have my say.

"Oh come on, John. This is Barnaby yer talkin to. Yoki Dokey, excuse me, YOKO DOKO, err YOKO ONO is trying to break up the greatest rock n' roll band in the world!"
"That was happenin anyway." John snapped.
"The Beatles songs are mostly crap. And Yoko says...we're gonna "

I interrupted.  
"Let me guess.  an album. You're going to record an album with a woman with a voice that sounds like a hairless chewawa.
" Besides John, Yokoooooo is uglyyyyy! . I tell ya...OPEN YO EYES, MY MAINE, er MAN." I blurted.  I always blow it when I try to go ethnic.

John was starting to come unglued.

"If her brains were on fire, I wouldn't piss in 'er ear." Don't know why I said that. To this day I don't. It was the proverbial straw. 

John erupted like Mount Pinatubo. He kicked me. John Lennon, more popular than GOD. That JOHN LENNON, kicked me, kicked a DOG (that should have had dog insurance), and chased me out of the VIP lounge, all because of Yoko-Oko-ono, Japanese bitch-witch.
  That was the last time I saw John. Oh, I tried to revive our friendship all right. I liked John and being around celebrity. Later, when john and Yoko took up residence in the Dakota, I went there several times, hoping to patch things up. But the doorman had standing orders from Yoko to refuse me entry.

Then along came a sicko bastard name of Mark David Chapman who shot John dead. And Yoko turned his memory into a business franchise.

She even tried to have me banned from Strawberry Fields, the memorial garden in Central Park across the street from the Dakota . She told police that I was a stalker, that I was mentally unstable and prone to violence. Violence? I'm a basset hound for Christ's sake.


  I do have my revenge. Every now and then, I sneak into the park late at night. I go straight to that memorial Yoko put there, the one made of tiles with the word 'Imagine' .  I squat and shit smack dab right in the center . Maybe you think that's a crude way to express oneself, but hey, I'm a dog. I get satisfaction, and, as you humans would say.... It gives me closure .

the end


in the next Barnaby Chronicles, Barnaby interviews the only eyewitness to the murder of  Nicole simpson and Ronald Goldman, Kato, the Akita.