[Dailydrool] Howling

[Elizabeth]

Our first basset, the late Jane, never really howled or sang. When she was excited she’d bark in a way that sounded like a bay. I heard her bay for real, a true bay, just once, when she saw a deer in the harvested corn field next to our house and was stymied by the fence between her and it. She threw her head back and bayed like a real hunting hound. It was a glorious sound, and if the gate had been on that side of the fence I might have let her out to chase it. (At that point in life she wouldn’t have gotten far.)

Jane’s successor, the late Elsinore, was a singer. Every time I sat down at the piano or my folk harp, she’d follow the sound, sit down beside me, and sing along. This was serious business for her. She was serious about everything she did. She put her whole heart into her music and, for a dog, had a decent sense of rhythm. She also sang in her own key. Once I hooked my digital tuner up to her, and she tuned at B-flat. Her dynamics were masterful, and she had a sense of presentation, often stopping to allow me a few measures of instrumental solo before joining me again.

Elsinore had definite musical tastes. She did not care for folk or pop. She preferred classical music, though she’d often sing while I was tuning the harp. I believe she was using that as an opportunity to warm up or work on vocal exercises to help increase her range and flexibility. Her favorite pieces were “God Save the Queen” and a particular Beethoven sonatina, whose number and key I can’t remember at the moment. I call that one “Elsinore’s sonatina” now.

When young Charlie Basset joined our family, we discovered he enjoyed singing with Elsinore. He often chose to sing the descant, letting Elsinore carry on with the melody. Sometimes Elsinore gave him the melody and sang counterpoint. At the time, we were living in Nashville, Tennessee. Music City USA. Where scouts and record producers are falling out of the trees. I always marveled that no one who heard them told someone who told someone about such two exceptionally talented singers. They really should have been signed to a label. When the Nashville television series was being filmed one block over from our house, I’d walk the hounds over to watch. The people connected with the show were always happy to pat them, and I was always happy to tell them about how well Elsinore and Charlie could both sing AND dance. No nibbles there either. Oh, well. 

After Elsinore died, their singing group, The B-flat Bassets, died as well. For a while after her death, Charlie would sing along to the piano. When he was with his basset friend Gigi, also a singer, the two would frequently burst into song for no apparent reason. Gigi’s human, Drooler Kelly Jane Wilson, and I would stop whatever we were doing to watch them point their noses in the air and harmonize. It was beautiful. But then Gigi died, and it’s become clear that Charlie isn’t a soloist. He’s an ensemble singer. Since there’s no one to sing with (I, apparently, don’t count), he’s no longer singing. I’m sad about this, but he’s always been a follower, so it’s in keeping with his character.

The Wee One (Molly), my mother’s chihuahua mix we’re now caring for because my mother no longer can, does not have any interest in singing. For which we are all extremely grateful.

Elizabeth