The Weight of Music on a Dog’s Snout

Cascade Marching Band

On a scorching July morning outside Ethan High School, the steady beat of marching sneakers and the bright, brassy tones of my trombone reverberate along 2nd Street. As the sun rises higher in the summer sky, its heat relentlessly bakes the pavement beneath us, transforming it into a fiery stage, yet my mood stays strong and resolute. The atmosphere is charged with resolve, accompanied by the fresh aroma of recently mowed grass from the nearby football field, interlaced with the less pleasant scent of adolescent boys. Each step along 2nd Street sees our marching band fuse disciplined rhythm with bursts of musical fervor, producing a lively energy that awakens the ordinarily sleepy town. My trombone glides smoothly through our fight song, "On Wisconsin," its rich and commanding sound soaring above the ensemble, every note reflecting countless hours of rehearsal. Though the oppressive heat causes sweat to stream down our faces, it is a minor discomfort compared to the exhilaration of refining our routine and the excitement building for the imminent parade.

After enduring a strenuous practice session beneath the blazing sun, I am soaked in sweat, my clothes clinging uncomfortably, and my energy nearly spent. The unforgiving heat makes every step feel more arduous, and the initial eagerness to play my trombone fades into a strong desire for shade and a cool drink. My instrument, slick with perspiration, feels heavier in my grasp, yet I carefully place it back into its case. Carrying the cumbersome, weighty case home becomes a slow, sticky slog, but the thought of a refreshing shower and cool airconditioned air motivates me, reminding me that each sweaty rehearsal brings us closer to perfecting our performance.

Approaching Ash Street, a sudden impulse prompts me to deviate from my usual route. Instead of turning right, I opt to walk a half block further, heading down a narrow, dim alley that passes Erpenbach's apple tree. The air here carries a subtle, earthy fragrance, and as I walk along the uneven tire-track path, I drift into my teenage musings. Just as I near Belitz’s garage on the right, I am unexpectedly startled when their large dog rounds the garage corner, dragging a heavy chain that clinks loudly with each step. The dog's purposeful movement, accompanied by the clattering chain scraping the garage's side, creates an almost foreboding soundtrack to its sudden emergence. I wait impatiently for him to reach the end of the chain, but he doesn't.

Startled and caught off guard as the dog charges toward me, my heartbeat quickens. Hot and annoyed, I lift the trombone case I’m carrying, prepared to use it defensively. The case’s cold, solid weight offers a strange sense of comfort, its sturdy exterior serving as a shield against the unforeseen danger. In that intense instant, time seems to slow – the sound of barking fills the air, and adrenaline heightens my awareness. Though frightened, I stay alert, determined to protect myself from his sharp teeth. As he lunges, I strike him forcefully on the broad snout with the case’s blunt end. He yelps in pain and surprise before retreating, frightened.

Experiencing a degree of irritation accompanied by satisfaction, I continue along the alleyway toward Erpenbach’s apple tree. As I approach, I reach upward, stretching my fingers into the canopy towards a large, lustrous apple hanging just within my grasp. Its bright green skin shines in the sunlight, promising a crisp, tangy flavor. Wearing a satisfied grin, I gently tug the apple from its branch and instinctively rub it on my shirt to clean it. The apple’s cool, smooth surface feels invigorating in my hand before I bring it to my lips. As I bite into the crunchy flesh, a wave of sour juice floods my senses, mingling with the subtle earthy scent of the alley. In that moment, savoring the perfect apple briefly erases the memories of the exhausting band practice and the fierce dog encounter.

The sharp, refreshing taste of the apple remains on my tongue as I continue down the alley, bringing with it a soothing sense of tranquility. As I near my house, the gentle whisper of leaves blends with the distant sound of children’s laughter as they play in sprinklers nearby. For a brief moment, the burdens of the day—the oppressive heat, the exhausting rehearsal, and the aggressive dog—fade away, replaced by the simple joy of a crisp apple.

Looking up at the vast, brilliant blue sky stretching endlessly above, a quiet determination takes root within me. Tomorrow holds another practice session, new obstacles, and likely more heat, yet also the excitement of progress, the magic of music coming to life, and the bond forged through sweat and song. Holding the nearly finished apple, I grasp my trombone case with my damp hand and cross the green grass in my yard, prepared to meet whatever lies ahead—with rhythm, stamina, and perhaps a touch more courage than before.

October 27, 2021 Josh Shortt