What is a Shadowdog?
And other unanswerable questions in the realm in which we live
So I asked ChatGPT the following:
“In less than 50 words, tell me what a shadowdog is, what it wants, and why a person should either run towards it, or run away from it?”
ChatGPT said:
A shadowdog is a dark, shifting hound born of fear and memory. It wants your attention—either to guide you to hidden truths or drag you into despair. Run toward it for answers, away from it for safety. The choice reveals who you truly are.
I followed with: “That's a pretty good answer, where did you get your information?”
ChatGPT said:
Thanks — that one came straight from my imagination.
“Shadowdog” isn’t a widely recognized creature in folklore or science, so I drew on a mix of mythic archetypes (like black dogs in British legend) and dream-symbol logic to make it feel real but mysterious.
Uhhh, Thanks… I think.
Now I’d like to share with you what a Shadowdog rrrrreally is.
Alexa, I mean, ChatGPTushybiscuits (COME ON, it’s an AI, you got to make fun of it!) was only partially correct, actually.
I can verify this wholeheartedly, as I am a professional—an expert, a learned scholar of the Shadowdog. I acquired such accolades when I wrote the following poem, “Shadowdog Catches the Number.”
My knowledge then became verified by the world, when Thimble Literary Magazine graciously chose to publish it in their issue volume 7. Number 4.
Go ahead and read my poem online. And while you are at it, further explore the world of Thimble.
It’s an awesome journal, which is also, by the way, currently accepting submissions for Volume 8, Issue 3. So send them some creative stuff.
Shadowdog Catches the Number
Everything here talks back to me in
blacks and whites. Everyone is
wearing long coats. There is a giant
clock with letters instead of numbers.
The numbers have no meaning here
and have entered a dark tunnel
bidding no farewells. Silver and blue
and laureled, the children activate the
backs of their heads, only their
backs, showing like wings of dark
birds flying away. They walk
forwards and backwards at the same
time. This is an underground thatch
with an entire city running like a
prison through its walls and veins,
but everything here is forgotten by
someone. A shadowdog ghosts this
burning landscape until it Goes Out.
So, I couldn’t resist.
I asked PetGPT to give its “understanding” of my poem.
It basically knocked it out of the park, but I am still going to give it an F-minus grade since it is an AI trying to take over the world, and because it is against the rules to use AI to formulate answers in any classroom in America.
Anyway, here’s what it “said.”
ChatGPT said:
Overall interpretation:
The poem reads like a meditation on a world where time and order have unraveled. The “number” in the title may stand for quantifiable truth, measurement, or even fate — and the shadowdog “catches” it, meaning something primal or unconscious seizes control of meaning from rational order. Once caught, the number’s value vanishes, and the place drifts into a surreal state where memory is fractured and time has lost direction. It’s both dreamlike and apocalyptic — a place where the mind recognizes loss but can’t restore what’s gone.
It also generated these summary points:
Time is untrustworthy, but language is sacred
Innocence is always turning away
Confinement feels organic
The Shadowdog as the hunter of meaning
The capitalization “Goes Out” as a fixation on endings
But we want the human answer—what is that weird poem really about?
A lot of times when writing poems, I just allow my mind to run with it. I also am highly inspired by television and movies.
One of my favorite foreign films is Wild Strawberries by Ingmar Bergman. It is a gorgeous black and white film that delves into the main character’s memories of the past. It also incorporates surrealistic elements, such as a dream sequence with a clock and a pocket watch with no hands.
These unusual timepieces give our main character, the poor dear, a real fright. From there, things don’t get better for him—soon the back of a man in a long coat appears, and when the man’s face is revealed, it’s severely F’ed up.
Good thing this is just a dream.
In “Shadowdog,” I wanted to offer an ode to Bergman and Wild Strawberries, but also to create something totally its own.
The word Shadowdog just sounds cool. That’s all there is to that.
Put the words “shadow” and “dog” together and see what happens. Make this creature run after, and finally catch, something intangible, like a number.
The title alone stretches your brain like a rubber band and then lets it go: snap.
Well, it’s not that profound, but it is a bit of a mental puzzle you can’t figure out.
I like to think I am not confined to one poetic style, but I have to admit—and it’s probably the weirdo inside of me—I do enjoy writing surrealistic poetry.
A lot of times, I incorporate some off-kilter humor. In this one, though, I stuck to the dark dreamscape. And then I lit it on fire, and let it burn … until it Goes Out.
The poets, Mark Strand, Charles Simic and John Ashbery were all wonderfully adept at inserting the surreal into their writing. While these great poets are all contemporary, each has since passed. RIP, you wonderful wordsmiths.
Ashbery’s “The Problem of Anxiety,” which was included in The Best American Poetry Anthology, 1997 is one of my favorites.
“hair the color of dandelion fuzz,” “the description of finger sandwiches,” and “the glass eye that stares...” These three images alone blow me away.
Also, the speaker of the poem references the poem itself and asks the reader to put in the things he has left out. Lastly, he uses the word “Naw.”
The damned poem is genius, ok. It’s not up for debate.
And don’t even tell me you didn’t like Wild Strawberries after you watch it. Don’t come back at me and tell me it put you to sleep. Of course it did. You are very tired.
Yes, indeed.
And the movie itself is hypnotic as a dreamcatcher above your bed, blowing in the soft night breeze.
I mean— Geeeeeeez!
