There is a music in the yodel of my dog I actively worked to destroy my children's faith in democratic processes, for every time we took a family vote on acquiring a dog, I cast the sole vote against, yet invariably I won. But a father and a husband can only win for so long, before winning becomes losing and the children's lament hangs like a dirge in the house with the mother's silence the refrain. So, out of town on business, I finally caved to the pleas of my son over the telephone. There was a fair bit of Pontius Pilate in my acquiescence; for I knew better but let the locals have their way. Acquiescence can only go so far, for a dog, or any extra being, in the house makes its presence felt in a hundred different ways. I hoped only for the impossible, for a dog unlike all other dogs: calm, patient, born with an understanding of the universe that eludes human beings, or at least me. I wanted preternatural instincts focused on creating peace in the house. Instead, I got an ordinary dog, who had lived five years under the rules of strangers (to me), before unknown circumstances dictated they abandon him at the local animal shelter. Oh, hateful, stupid dog, You snarl at everyone. You pretend to be learning forbearance, only to trick me into bringing you closer to other dogs, walked by my neighbors, where you then lunge in attack and I am forced to jerk you away by your leash, apologizing profusely all the while. I have learned my lesson, and it is a lesson in misery. You cannot go out on your own. You cannot approach neighbors, man or dog. You sit by the window staring longingly at the privileges you have lost. You bark madly as the neighbor's cat struts across the porch, taunting you in your imprisonment. Stupid, useless schnauzer, I did not want you for I predicted this very image. I exactly knew that you would elicit in me only the empathy required to acknowledge the utter meaninglessness of your pitiful existence. I did not need to be reminded of these things. Still, I maintain a measure of polite compassion; I walk you when you must be walked. I do not count out loud the days until you are gone. I know that when relationships fail, as yours and mine was destined to, that both parties must share the blame--your limited, canine sentience and my unproductive, existential pessimism. For a year now you have shared our home. You have, more or less equilibrated to your new surroundings. My children are, I suppose, happy to have you. They profess their love, when I suggest returning you to the shelter, something, to my credit, I have not said in many months. I lost. I lost long before you came, unwelcome, into my home. We sit on the porch, you on a short leash, so you cannot terrorize the children nervously passing on the sidewalk. You have lately taken to yodeling, I don't know why. For I, who despise your obnoxious bark and your nasty snarl, it is the first pleasant sound that I have heard come from you. I hear a music in it. Beside you, I imitate your song, prompting you into a full-throated rendition. The neighbors look askance at us, me more than you, for you are a stupid dog meant to howl and bay, but I am a man, who is supposed to know better.

There is a music in the yodel of my dog David J. Keffer Knoxville, Tennessee July 7, 2015

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