Learning more about music and communication from an unexpected source
Two brief stories: what I have learned from our dog Max
(February 7, 1999-November 21, 2014)
One day, maybe three or four years ago, Max and I were walking on our block. I noticed quite how attuned he was to my stride, as dogs often are, but also how little interest he had in “heeling,” Although we attended his graduation, Max had not been a successful alumnus of dog training academy. His pace was essentially his own, filled with bursts of energy and enjoying to pull and tug. But the closer I paid attention on this particular day, the more I realized how cognizant Max was of the space around him, and of our respective walking paces. What I noticed was that while to me his patterns were seemingly random, they were in fact not that at all. Max closely perceived where I was, where he was, how fast we were each going, and taking all that into account, decided how he wished to proceed. This calculation was constantly changing. What struck me more than anything was that his use of space and time was substantially relational and all I needed to do to relate to him with mutuality was pay attention. From that point I began to listen to musical groups differently, becoming more conscious of how non-verbal and not even obviously musical features played a role in how the players perceived and responded to one another. I began to analyze and describe music in fundamentally relational terms. I noticed how people unconsciously perceive the movement of other people coming up behind them, even when their sounds cannot be heard. There was far more to perceive relationally than what we human beings think that we think about. But dogs know this well. Thanks to Max, that remains my project as a teacher and writer.
More than a decade ago, when Max was sprite and I was recovering from knee surgery, he and I drove to the Adirondacks and hiked Mt. Jo. This favorite spot of mine overlooks Heart Lake. Max walked and climbed by himself when the terrain allowed it, at times running way ahead on flatter spaces and rushing back to be by my side. When the rocks were too steep, he waited for me to lift and carry him up to the next level surface. We reached the top and came back down, returning to our car. I began to drive back towards the highway and suddenly forgetting that Max was a dog, turned towards him to ask how the hike was for him. He looked exhausted but he looked up at me, but of course not saying a word. But what I realized was that Max actually had the capacities to communicate in all the ways that he needed as a dog. He didn’t need anything more than that. Ok, this seems obvious. But what was not obvious was the idea that Max was quite fully communicating throughout the day in his own way, even as we departed from Heart Lake. The adjustment to be made was mine, not his, and I finally and rather fully understood that the line between human beings and other animals is far less distinct or significant than I have always insisted. Hiking with Max has been, over the years, a regular part of my family’s life, in various combinations of Max, Pamela, Allison, and I.