Serenade at dinner

Posted 6/24/14

I hadn’t thought of Ollie in terms of being a musician until the other night.

From his spot, a pace away from the dining room table, he lay outstretched with his head resting on his paws. His …

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Serenade at dinner

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I hadn’t thought of Ollie in terms of being a musician until the other night.

From his spot, a pace away from the dining room table, he lay outstretched with his head resting on his paws. His round brown eyes took in every move as my fork went between my plate and my mouth.

From the depths of his body, came a rumble and a gurgling. But he wasn’t perturbed in the least. He didn’t budge. The chorus of rumbling ascended and I imagined an orchestra timpani beating faster, with the periodic clang of cymbals. Then, suddenly, there was the transition from minor to major. This was a significant work. He opened his mouth to reveal his canines. I thought he might be gagging. Perhaps that section of chewed rope from his favorite “pullie” toy would be disgorged. He was certainly about to deliver something momentous.

Carol looked up. She had a napkin in hand and was ready. But before she could leave her seat, the horn section came alive.

We were going to be serenaded. A burp of gigantic proportions drowned out the orchestral music playing on the radio.

Ollie rested his head back on his paws and continued his dinner vigil.

The burp was just the overture.

When we adopted Ollie, he was a stealth dog. Silently he’d watch us, and when in his outdoor pen, or free in the yard, he would sniff the grounds, never vocally expressing himself. I was thrilled that a spotted coonhound could be so restrained. Howling and barking were my first concerns with his adoption. He’s closely related to a beagle, and memories of our neighbor’s beagle convinced me I didn’t want a dog that howled incessantly for no apparent reason. That dog would stand mid-yard, focused on no particular thing, and bay until our neighbor Al Elman would step outside and shout at her to shut up. He always added a few choice words for extra effect. I always thought he did that just to let the neighborhood know he didn’t condone such behavior, and for a touch of levity. It worked. His choice of words was cause to smile and occasionally a topic of conversation. The beagle, indignant at the interruption, would waddle on its stout legs back to the house and disappear inside, with Al muttering in her wake.

My hope that the howling gene was omitted from Ollie’s DNA was sadly mistaken. He found his voice within a couple of months, most remarkably when he joined in when Carol and I would sing happy birthday to one of the children or grandchildren over the phone. Carol’s singing and guitar playing have the same effect. He joins right in.

For some reason, the sound of jet skis on the bay sets him off. Carol is convinced jet skies trigger a distant memory of his early hunting life in North Carolina before being rescued by the East Greenwich Animal Protection League. But I don’t get it – a hunting party on jet skies?

Back at dinner, we were being introduced to Ollie’s multiple musical talents. He went back to following my fork, eyes moving back and forth. The second movement was about to open. It came to life with a gurgling that segued into a series of extended piccolo-like stomach squeaks. Only been eating grass accounted for such a rare performance. His deep eyes looked up in search of acknowledgement.

“Ollie,” his face brightening at the sound of his name, “are you all right?”

Carol added her concern. Ollie looked happy – not as happy as when he gets dinner scraps – but obviously enjoying the attention.

He rose, extending his forelegs in a stretch – or was it a bow? He expelled air with a prolonged whine. Indeed, this had to be the coda. Would a howl follow? Might he produce a high note at the other end? He is pretty good with those as well.

No. He just wagged and smiled, and shook his head and sneezed and then, as Rachmaninoff closed his piano concerto, Ollie repeated his coda with a second sneeze.

Maestro Ollie had earned his dinner scraps.

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