2. Howling
First off, let’s face some hard facts. Not every dog howls. There’s no simple reason for this. It’s just a fact. I’ve had two German shorthaired pointers. Ziggy, our first, was quite a howler with some extremely unusual preferences, which we’ll get to in a minute. Our second, Tesla (named long before the car came along– our son named her for Nicolai) did not howl. Just not interested. When I would get down on the ground next to her, shoulder-to-shoulder and be at my most soulful, she would look upon me somewhat tolerantly, but remained unpersuaded.
With this knowledge in hand, as you undertake some of the howling suggestions that are about to be presented, don’t give up or feel badly if your hound fails to join in. You can set a good example even though you’re seemingly alone. And your efforts, without question, will eventually be useful to your dog even though it may not be immediately apparent.
It’s the same way with children. My kids were exposed to vast amounts of classical and jazz music of all kinds. Never, or almost never, did I hear, ‘Wow. That’s beautiful.’ But when visiting their own digs years later, one of them surprised me by putting on Kurt Weil’s Seven Deadly Sins and proclaimed it was his favorite piece of music. Another would mention his (sorry for all ‘hes and his’s but I have four sons, and the daughters-in-law’s’ childhood experiences don’t count for these purposes) favorite is Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony. So don’t be surprised if your dog doesn’t wag its tail or roll over while you’re pouring your heart out at the moon. You may eventually get your thanks but don’t be hurt if it comes many years down the road.
Howling is important because in an evolutionary way it bridges the gap between silence and song. So let’s begin by having some silence once again.
Let into your heart that silence we tried to reimagine in the previous chapter, that pre-industrial-age quiet that was the earth’s normal state, interrupted for most people by the occasional sound of nature, a rippling brook, and clap of thunder, or the sounds of human work and play. Let the night come, and soon wild and tame dogs are coming down to the village. The wild ones, some still in their predecessor form of wolf or coyote, are hardly silent. We can hear the pack calling to each other, first with little yips and then, as the moon rises, full-throated howls. The leader starts, others are overwhelmed with emotion, and join in. A third voice tries to go a little higher than the first two, and before long, it’s symphony.
Now it’s time to see whether or not your dog is a howler or a watcher. It’s nighttime, the fire is crackling in the fireplace, and maybe the wind is stirring outside. You need to get down on the floor, since you either want to join your dog’s pack or convince her or him to join yours. And then you need to just start a low moan, like asking ‘Whoooo?’ Once you get your pipes a little warmed up, you can start a little howl. Maybe your dog will join in and you’re all set for a session. The best howls are the ones that begin with a little uptick, like, ‘Hoo,’ a short breath in, and then a long, pack-exciting call that just seems to create its own echo. Wow, that was beautiful.
But if your dog looks at you as if it’s just lost its sane owner, it’s okay to break out of your howling self and give a little reassurance: ‘It’s okay. Come on, let’s sing together.’ And you can howl encouragingly, giving little spaces where your buddy can find their voice.
If you’re fortunate and your dog joins in, you’re about to make a wonderful discovery — howling is the blues. It’s not like the blues, it’s the actual thing. A sad sound that’s gets right to the heart of life’s tragedies, but somehow letting it out there just makes you feel better. Your dog will feel that way, and will finally understand that you, too, know how it is. Your dog will never be closer to you than this moment. And if your dog is howling, well just let that bonding thing happen. Let’s face it. You both love music and aren’t afraid to show it.
A lot of people wonder if you can only howl with your dog in the evening. Absolutely not! You can howl with your dog anytime it feels right. This probably won’t be when you’re out for a walk because that’s when your dog is feeling a little vulnerable and on guard. And you won’t want to do it when guests are around because to your dog it might feel as if you’re showing them off, or even worse, laughing at him. That will break your bond of intimacy, maybe forever. So take caution about showing off.
Same with letting the kids join in. If they’re old enough to be empathic, then it’s great, as long as they don’t wear it out. Even the blues can lose their magic, so make sure the kids understand that this is a precious kind of sharing.
What about in the car? Although at first the car will seem like a great place to howl, there are some dangers. If your dog is small and a howler, then joining in enthusiastically will put a little crazed maniac right next to you just as you’re trying to negotiate a left turn. And once you get a dog howling, they won’t quickly stop just because some idiot has cut into your lane inches ahead of you.
If your howler is a big dog, like 90 pound Ziggy, then you could be triggering a force greater than is safe for the highway. A big dog can momentarily lose its mind when howling, overcome by the blues, by feelings for you and your deep kinship, and sorrow for just the way the whole damn thing is sometimes. This can mean a deafening howl in your right ear, a jawbone to jawbone collision, or a mighty paw crunching down somewhere painful in your lap.
Bottom line, if the urge to howl in the car is just too strong to suppress, for the good of all of us, please pull over.
Besides howling with me when the moon was right, Ziggy also liked to howl with some very specific music. Brahms. And not just any Brahms. If there were French horns in the score, then look out.
There are two quite different instruments that are called horns in the orchestra. The English Horn looks a lot like an oboe or clarinet, and if you get close to one it is distinguished at the far end by ending not in a flare, like a clarinet or trumpet, but in an avocado-sized bell-shape. This distinct shape gives the English horn a very warm, soulful voice, and resembles the human voice more than any other instrument.
But the horn we want to focus on as a gateway instrument to move from howling to classical music, is the French Horn. Made of brass, generally circular in shape, with or without valves, it is distinguished by its large flaring bell, in which the player generally has placed their hand deeply inside. As a brass instrument, the French horn sits with the trumpets and trombones, but unlike the rest of its family, the bell points away from the listener, bouncing its sound off the back walls of a concert stage.
The French Horn produces a complex sound, rich in overtones that give it a beautiful, even noble characteristic. The French Horn is what thrills us in movie themes like the big Star Wars openers. And that same thrilling sound works for many dogs too. Maybe it’s the ancestral call to the hunt that gets them, calling something deep in the canine brain that triggers memories of musk and blood. Who is to say?
And here comes a mystery that only Ziggy could have explained. She somehow was able to take her profound thrill of the sound of a French horn, connect that to Brahms, and then hear whatever Brahms had done with French horns in everything else Brahms wrote, even if the horns were no longer present.
I could play Beethoven sonatas on the piano all day long and Ziggy would barely raise an eyebrow. But if I were to begin the most innocent of Brahms piano pieces, look out! It was if the most feral of German Shorthaired Pointers had suddenly entered the premises during a full moon. Ziggy went full howl. And it wasn’t a happy-type howl This was a longing for Germany long forgotten. Schnitzel. Beer halls. Icy mountain trails.
At first Ziggy’s howling with Brahms was peculiar and funny. But once in a while, when I actually wanted to practice or just enjoy my own playing, it was downright annoying to be drowned out by my weepy howling hound. Normally well-behaved she would ignore my pleas and then commands to shut up. The only thing that worked was to return to Beethoven.
The catnip of all catnip when it comes to Johannes Brahms for dogs is a delightful trio Brahms wrote for piano, violin and (here’s the killer) French horn, called the Horn Trio in E-flat Major, Op. 40. You won’t be misunderstood if you just call it Brahms Horn Trio because he only wrote one. Brahms is easy to remember visually, as well. There’s a wonderful picture of him at the piano sporting a full beard and smoking a cigar, with the ashes, no doubt, creating a serious fire hazard.
There is no question that Brahms intended the Trio to have some genuine emotion in it — he wrote it after the death of his mother and one can tell that he must have loved her dearly. When you listen to it the first time, if your pooch is around, you may want to use headphones so you have a chance to actually hear the whole piece. If you’ve got a Brahmsian howler in your household, your Brahms Trio is likely to become a quartet from here on out.
As we’ll try to do throughout these posts, my goal is to find the doors that open for you, so you can understand and fall in love with ‘classical’ music. Everyone’s interests, passions and tastes are different, and those change over time as well. So if I suggest a piece to listen to, give it a try, listen to the whole thing at least once. And if you hate it, that tells you a lot about your taste for a particular composer and maybe even for a particular style or era in music.
And if you love a piece, then that’s a way in. If you are touched by the Brahm’s Trio, here comes a little overview that will help you explore Brahms and understand his musical world, who he was listening to and what he was a part of.
Brahms was born in 1833 and grew up in Germany in a world where Beethoven’s music had established an appetite for big symphonies, works lasting thirty or forty minutes, works that were big, intellectual and mostly non-narrative. They weren’t trying to tell a story or represent something other than themselves. They just were themselves, the heart of the concert, a serious core to an evening’s entertainment for a serious audience.
Brahms would turn out to be a great symphonist himself, but the shadow of Beethoven was mighty, and Brahms was so intimidated that it really took him twenty-five adult years before he was ready to finish his first symphony. By the time his body of work was complete, and here’s what you need to know, he had written nine big concert works that you might want to explore over time: four symphonies, two concertos for piano and orchestra, a concerto for violin and orchestra, and a double concerto for cello and violin and orchestra. There is, of course, much, much more.
Brahms’ signature musical sound, his fingerprint, is fairly distinctive. If you love Brahm’s musical voice, then you will have a lot of music to explore and enjoy. And it’s quite a signature. Ziggy knew it was Brahms in just a few seconds, horns or not.
The challenge is pretty much the same with music. If the dogs or us were raised on the instant gratification of a three minute, or we’ve even been successful at a five minute howling session — we’re probably still not ready for an hour-long symphony or two hour opera.