My Dog-Eared Audience

The Fourth of July is our dog's least favorite thing in life. It even aces out her other nemeses like the UPS guy and the Goodyear blimp because the Fourth of July comes with random pops, fizzles, and bangs that set her doggy heart beating away a zillion times per minute. She is personally affronted by each and every boom—and in a city that only gets one day per year to set off fireworks legally, she ends up running herself ragged telling off the world each time a neighbor lights a match.

It's an admirable effort, as this dog takes no shortcuts. If ten pops go off at once, she won't just roll them into a single two-minute tell-off. No, no, she goes into a full 20-minute soliloquy, and then follows up with two-minute barkaramas for any pops and bangs that dared to interrupt her. Let's just say that her fireworks experience usually ends way after the grand finale.

To keep her from getting so agitated, we have tried light medication—but that doesn't always work. This year, it made her slightly lethargic, but she powered through. She had plenty of stamina to keep a low, constant growl going between crazed barking leaps to the window.

It was a sorry sight, so at one point, I pulled out the guitar and started playing "Edelweiss" to her. Suddenly, she was quiet. I mean, the growling kept on, but she saved the barking for only the most offensive of light displays. Stunned, I ran through everything I knew and then just started thrashing around familiar chords so as not to break her semi-trance. Luckily, she eventually accepted a loud TV action dramedy ("Burn Notice") as a substitute sedative, or I'm sure the neighbors would have called the cops the next time I trashed "Brown-Eyed Girl."

Now, the dog is back to her happy, normal self. Is it sad to admit that it was sort of gratifying that my guitar playing finally served a purpose, even if my first real concert was for a semi-crazed canine who would probably have been equally happy with radio static? The truth, I fear, is self-evident.