Barkout at the OK Corral

As I was reposing in my homemade hot tub recently, the as-good-as full moon radiated its brilliant orange-yellow face over the eastern ridge. From my vantage point, it lit up the entire evening sky, throwing shadows of spindly branches and stout trunks across the hillside. Tomorrow it’d be full, but tonight for me and all the other night critters, it was about as round and bright as it ever gets. Many creatures, who would otherwise be bedding down at that moment, noted the luminous glow and ventured forth, to frolic in the unaccustomed light.

The crystal-clear air had also formed layers that bent sound waves back towards earth, rather than carry them high into the sky. As a result, we moonstruck critters could hear sounds from much farther away than usual. On nights like that, it’s as if one’s ears and eyes are far more sensitive than usual: one can see deep into the woods and listen to remarkably far-off animal calls.

Dogs are drawn into noisy activity on nights like this, to participate in extended barking chorales. Their acute ears can hear challenging barks that are far more distant than my ears can hear; so their canine chorus is much larger than mine. Yet, as I listened, I could hear the night air overflowing with barks, yaps, yowls, and yelps—arriving from all compass points. The natives were sure restive!

There were many kinds of doggy voices in the moonlit choir. I could hear Suzi, the incessant soprano, trying to lead the pack. Then Rover, the tenacious tenor. Followed by Mimi, the audacious alto. Fido, the boisterous baritone added his contribution, followed by Duke, the booming bass. Yes, then I was sure I could even hear Butch, the timid countertenor.

The dog choir shouted exuberantly into the bright night, thoroughly enjoying their performance—though not a one of them paid enough attention to the Great Conductor to keep the performance the least bit polished. Although I’m sure they considered their evening’s entertainment to be a masterful one, it sounded to my ear to be a little too avant-garde and even jarringly post-modern. It was quite atonal, randomly syncopated, and rather monotonous. They might call it music… I call it dissonance.

The doggy chorale flowed and ebbed, surged and decayed, gushed and waned. Now and then, there were blessed silent moments, which became abruptly terminated by one or more choir members eagerly jumping in, trying to outdo one another. On occasions, one overly enthusiastic hound would launch into a frenetic solo, in his attempt to grab the moonlight limelight. Others would hold back and then burst forth with a maniacal bark.

Later, when the chorale seemed to be tapering off, I could hear what I call the “Bark Heard Round the World.” Sometimes I’ll call it “Around the World in 80 Barks.” Here’s how it goes: I could hear, after a quiet pause, one nearby dog, just to the south of me, set off with an explosive yap. In doggy call-and-response fashion, he was answered by another dog, a little farther to the south. Several more barks could be heard, slowly fading over the southern ridges. That traveling yapping wave was followed by a few quiet moments, when the only sound I could hear was a gentle breeze wafting quietly through the trees, as if exhaled by that gorgeous moon.

 Then suddenly I could pick up the faint sound of a bark, way off to the north. It was answered, closer and closer, until the wave of barks rolled on past me, and flowed once again off to the south. I think the wave was bent on navigating the globe one more time!