The Resident Music Critic

He doesn’t know if his Chocolate

Lab is a music critic.

He doesn’t think the dog ever took a

course in music appreciation,

but he has only had the dog for a year,

and the dog isn’t talking about

his previous life. It could be that the

five year old, an estimate by

the vet, which translates to forty-five

in human years, an age by

which most seeking a Ph.D. attain it,

obtained his Doggie of Phil-

osophy degree in music appreciation

before they ever met. All the

man knows is that when he pulls out

his guitar to strum and sing

some old Peter, Paul and Mary or

Kingston Trio tunes, the dog

quietly, but resolutely and rather

quickly rises, lowers his ears

and leaves the room. When his child-

ren were young, they did the

same thing, including a metaphorical

lowering of the ears. What

was disquieting for the man was that

they were in elementary

school at the time – a long way from

obtaining any degree in

music appreciation let alone a Ph.D.

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