I really do want to be a better Beagle and I am truly sorry for the impact of my reckless behaviour on Brahms, but this morning I would rather have missed breakfast than go howling. It is my usual morning routine to watch Brahms prepare for choir, whilst I doze, but today I had to take part in the preparations. 'First we stretch the spine and rib cage - this is to help with breathing,' instructed Brahms. I completed the stretches to his satisfaction and then followed vocal exercises. It appears that I have much to learn about controlling my diaphragm, in order to produce the lengthy howls and whistles required in Beagle Song. Brahms says I sound more like a terrier-rapper than a well modulated growler. Anyway, he was pleased with my efforts, although I did overhear Auntie Gill say, 'Is Bartok choking?' It is clear she has no ear for Beagle Song.
I can't say that I was looking forward to joining the choir. It lived up to my most hideous expectations - it's full of Dames and wrinkly Grand Dames. I mean, who wants to sit next to Grand Dame Fanny Mendelssohn, no matter how steeped she is in Beagle Song, when Rudmilla (divine, blonde, Cleopatra-eyed soprano, Serbian Beagle - you should hear her whistles - Great Beagle! She inspires me to rootle hares!) - sits the back row. 'Brahms dear, leave your brother with me!' quavered an imperious voice. To my dismay, I found myself stuck centre front row with Dame Fanny. Gloom. Brahms was ecstatic. 'Bartok,' he whispered, 'it's a great honour! Do not misbehave.'
'Let me look at you Bartok,' commanded Dame Fanny. I felt as if I was being dissected as her bloodshot eyes roved over me. 'I knew your Uncle JS, you know,' she pronounced. 'you have his nose - he wasn't much of a howler either. Let me hear you.'
'Now?' I quivered.
'Yes of course now. Come along. Sit up straight, relax the shoulders.' I did my best. 'No dear, you're hunching - too tense. Look at your paws - even your toes are rigid. This won't do at all. Now breathe in and howl!' Truly, I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me. I wished that Rudmilla wasn't there to witness my humiliation. 'Come along Bartok!' urged Dame Fanny, 'we haven't all day. What is the matter?'
'I'm sorry Dame Fanny,' I replied, trying to control my front legs, which were shaking with a will of their own, 'I'm not used to this - I'm nervous.'
'Nerves, Bartok, are most unattractive. You either want to sing, or you don't. You are here in a choir, so sing or go home.' There was no escape.
Here's hoping, I thought. Great Beagle! I prayed and let rip my best howl through my parched throat. Dame Fanny listened with head down and great wrinkles shrouding her eyes. She nodded, but it was some time before she raised her head and the wrinkles readjusted. She smiled at me! 'I can hear what you are trying to do Bartok,' she said kindly. 'Beagles come to me for lessons and they say, "Dame Fanny, I just want to sing for fun, not be too serious about it." ' She paused and fixed me in a tractor beam gaze before continuing, 'I have no time for that. Howling is all about technique. Without technique, you cannot bring out what is within you or the song - and you Bartok, have it within you. We will start this afternoon.'
Well, I was gob-smacked. No one has ever told me that I have 'it' within me. For once I felt important and special. I'm not sure what the 'it' is, but Grand Dame Fanny knows about these things.
I think maybe I have just experienced, 'feeling good.' I think I like it. And, I'm looking forward to my lesson with Dame Fanny. Brahms says she doesn't waste her time on Beagles who don't have 'it'.
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