On March 4th 1987, a most extraordinary funeral took place. Snuffie, the Gangster Woof of Amsterdam, was laid to rest. That was all so long ago, that only a large handful of you had the pleasure of meeting, and in some cases coming to know, my little dog guru. A few others have heard tell of him. To the vast majority the name itself is new. Snuffie and I were together for just over six years. I’d inherited him from my dear French junkie prostitute friend Elisabeth Lemoine, who died at far too young an age in early January 1981. Her tale is ultimately tragic. Whereas Snuffie’s is, and shall always remain, glorious. But the two are intertwined, at least to begin with. Hopefully one day I’ll get round to telling both their stories in full. For now, however, I’d simply like to introduce you, via a series of somewhat surreal photographs, to the ceremoniously stylish manner by which Woofie took his leave. His body left us, and his barks. Yet his spirit, and his special brand of uncanny canine wisdom, live on.
And so I give you, at last online,
HONOR THY WOOF
The Snuffie Memorial Exhibition
Am I quite mad? Oh yes! How else to be? if you truly want to feel the electricity of creative magic constantly coursing through your veins, that is. Because let’s face it, when all is said and done, sanity is bloody boring. Snuffie knew that, too. Which is why Fate decided that for a certain crucial period of time we were meant to be companions.
Woof Woof, EDDIE xxx
SNUFFIE is still watching…
“Snuffie is not a dog!” – Jack Micheline
“Snuffie really loves me, you know.” – Harold Norse
“Snuffie is the first person I ever actually missed.” – Jane Harvey
“Come here, Snuffie. Give me your hand, give me your hand.” – William S. Burroughs