The Tragedy of Harry the Singing Dog

The Family had a dog. He was a small Jack Russell with all the marks of inbreeding. A foot that turned out like it was broken. Impenetrable cloudy eyes that looked in two different directions. When he ran his misaligned hips made him look as rigid as a toy horse. But what upset the family the most were the seizures that he had once a month. Those feeble contortions made Lily cry.

As the years went by the family thought about Harry less and were only reminded of his existence when he had a seizure. Soon the seizures became monotonous. When the family sat down in front of the T.V. to eat dinner and Harry started to convulse, they were no longer saddened they became irritated. Harry was hard to ignore because he slept on a little cushion next to the T.V. The family tried their best to stay immersed in the thousands of tiny red, blue and green lights that illuminated the T.V. picture but the fits were too repulsive to watch, especially during dinner. The twisting bones beneath his sagging skin made Harry look like a grotesque puppet. So, whenever they started, the father would pick up Harry and take him out to the backyard and leave him on his cushion beneath the dark, starless sky.

One year, the eldest son Jack was given a harmonica of Christmas. His mother thought it would be a good idea because Jack wasn’t musically talented and she had heard the harmonica was an easy instrument to learn. They were on sale and she thought that the novelty would at least be a bit of fun for Jack and if not, at least it could fill the over flowing christmas stocking.

When Jack started to blow the harmonica all the notes came out in a random order. Jack spent most of christmas morning mindlessly blowing the harmonica. He was more fascinated in the way he could make annoying sounds with it, rather than attempt to learn to play the instrument.

After the family was finished breakfast, the father let Harry into the house. On hearing the wails of Jack’s Harmonica, Harry started to howl.

“He’s singing!” said Lily

“You could go on Australia’s got talent!” said the mother

“We’ll have to show uncle Peter this when he comes over today,” said the father “this is great!”

In the centre of the dissonant tornado of Jack’s harmonica, the cackling laughter and the high pitched howls that reverberated around the room, was Harry’s clouded eye. Near blind, he saw the glow of the ceiling light as if it were the light of a full moon that hung over a tall forest. Deep in this forest, he might have been a grey wolf in another life, not the deformed creature that he was. The discordant tones of Jack’s harmonica had penetrated deep into Harry’s soul. In a confused state, Harry was not singing or attempting anything musical. He was calling from a torn place inside of him. That torn place was calling for the rest of itself that was lost by Harry’s own nature of being doomed as a domestic animal.

Just after mid day, the same as every year, the extended family arrived for christmas lunch. They ate ham, turkey, prawns, coleslaw and white bread rolls with butter. There was plenty of food but all of it was cheap and without flavour. The family did their best to mirror the advertising they had seen on T.V. of how christmas lunches looked like. They consumed enormous amounts of food but all of it without pleasure. As they sat outside around the long table eating, drinking and ripping apart bon-bons, Harry skulked around their feet sniffing for any food that may have been dropped.

“Would you like some more ham,” the Grandmother said to Jack “You kids are so lucky. When I was young all I got for christmas was an orange in my stocking. I use to savour that flavour. I can still remember it now. It wasn’t like how you get all these different things.”

When lunch was over the father called out “Jack get out your harmonica, show them how Harry sings,”

The novelty of a singing dog captured the families imagination. So much so that the grandmother, who was taking photos of everyone sitting around the table, crowded with food and drink representing a bountiful christmas unimaginable when she was a young girl, stopped taking photos and excitedly turned to Jack. Proud to be his Father’s son, Jack did what he was told.

Before long, the shrill cries of the harmonica and the forlorn howl, that constituted singing for the family, yielded a cacophony of laughter and applause. The grandmother got out her old digital camera and took countless photos of the little dog sitting on the freshly mowed grass with its clouded eyes and its chin pointed aimlessly towards the sun. After the performance wore thin, Jack gave up blowing the harmonica. Whatever had overtaken Harry had evaporated. The shadow of the grey wolf that had not entirely been removed from Harry’s DNA had called out in weak cries but it was now gone. He returned to limping with his twisted leg, searching for scraps of food.

Two weeks later, Jack’s harmonica was lost and he never played a musical instrument again. Harry’s cries were almost completely forgotten.

Harry eventually died as a result of a seizure. By this stage, the family were glad he was able to escape his misery. He wasn’t the dog they thought he was meant to be. Harry’s howls were now completely forgotten. They were only remembered when the grandmother had printed off the photos of that years christmas. By that time, the family had bought a new dog and when they looked at the photos Harry seemed unfamiliar and ugly in his disproportions and deformities. There were a few passing comments about how he use to sing, Jack briefly thought about his lost harmonica, and the new dog slept on the small cushion next to the T.V.