The moon was full last night. Perhaps you don't believe that dogs bay at the moon. I can assure you that they do. I can issue you an affidavit of baydogship. I can pass a polygraph...if I can stay awake long enough.
The freak chorus started just before 10:00 p.m. Ann the black german-shepherd-looking lab mix set up shop on the front porch. Hung out her shingle: "You Ain't A-Woofin' Security Company: You don't have to woof because we do it for you!" The company theme song is apparently All Night Long, the Urban Cowboy version by Joe Walsh. Ann was still going strong at 6:30 this morning. You'd think she might get hoarse. Develop laryngitis. Nope. She's got endurance, our baur-baur-baur dog.
That's what Ann's bark sounds like. Baur-baur-baur. Sometimes just baur. Other times baur...baur........baur. It's quite annoying, waiting for the other baur to drop. Juno's bark is more yippy. Tank's was the typical beagle bay. Our old dog Grizzly, the beagle-lab mix who was shaped like a big beagle, and colored like a chocolate lab, also had that bay bark. Not nearly as annoying as the baur-baur-baur, but not nearly so pleasant as the aroo of my grandpa's Samoyed, Snowball.
I know Ann is the nervous sort. She's been that way ever since we found her behind the garage as an abandoned puppy that looked like a little bear cub. I know she thinks she's protecting us and our homestead and the twenty acres and our county and the eastern half of Missouri. I would prefer, however, that she would find another way to notify us of real or imagined danger. She's an outside dog, so she can't come poking around with a cold nose alert. If I had it my way, Ann would operate her security company a little like this:
Tap, tap. (That's the brass door knocker that we hung {heh, heh, I said "knocker" and "hung"} nose-high on the green metal front door for the sole purpose of Ann's warning system.) Tap, tap. "Excuse me, Sir or Madam, but I fear that, perchance, an intruder has breached the perimeter of the compound. Shall I give voice in an attempt to frighten the ne'er-do-well into skedaddling back under the rock from whence he slithered?"
Yes. That would be much more civilized. And I would get much more sleep.
Only one of our dogs is a barker, and he only barks when we leave the house--when the last person has left.
ReplyDeleteIt's like he's alerting the whole neighborhood--"Hey, the place is now available for burglars. Come on in...we won't bite."
The neighbors must love you too! That howling reminds me of the way my brother snored when growing up, no consistency, kept you awake waiting for that next snort.
ReplyDeleteTeach a dog to say that and you can replace "The Dog Whisperer" on TV.
ReplyDeleteSioux,
ReplyDeleteWhatta ya know! Our own dogs host a brunch the minute we pull out of the driveway. We've caught them shepherding two and three dogs at a time around the porch to the food pans when we've had to run back for a forgotten item.
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joeh,
The neighbors love us to the extent that we love our neighbors. It's a regular round robin of barkage all night.
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Stephen,
I'm working on it. We all know Val is what the viewing audience is crying for.
My daughter called to say her dogs barked all night. I am going to tell her they were baying at the moon.
ReplyDeleteYou have quite a dog chorus at your place. Our lab Harley doesn't bark a lot, so when he does, we pay attention. He barks if a stranger walks past our house, especially if they're walking their dog. He also barks when neighborhood kids play "Ding-Dong-Ditch." That drives him crazy--and me too.
ReplyDeleteAh, a polite talking dog. Now THERE'S one for the Handbasket Factory. Or at least knockers one could hang low enough for a dog to nose around--I have a couple but I think I'll keep them.
ReplyDeleteJust one more reason my dogs sleep inside.
ReplyDeleteLinda,
ReplyDeleteSee? I'm not the only one. I am fairly certain that my dog's barking did not reach the ears of your daughter's canines.
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Donna,
Maybe you should nickname him "E. F. Hutton."
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Leenie,
There's an idea! I can market the low-hanging knockers on the counter of my proposed handbasket factory. No dumber than those truck nuts.
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Kathy,
Oh. I thought it was for the eye-ball sniffing.