Chaucer

Lynn and Chaucer

I was in fourth grade when my parents brought home a Sheltie puppy. Chaucer (named by my Anglophile mother) was a mere handful of puppy fuzz. He was still a pup when we discovered his talent: the dog could sing! I was practicing piano when I heard him. Chaucer was sitting on the floor beside my piano bench, howling. I tried to not take his action as criticism. The next summer, Frank and Mike, the morning men for KNBR-68, started pitching an event. One of Mike's characters, Gus, decided that KNBR should throw a festival: The Gus Festival. Frank and Mike commenced on-air petitioning for listeners to send in their wacky act ideas. Mom looked at me. I looked at her. I wrote a letter that same day. "Miss Benson," my response read, "congratulations on being chosen for the stage of the Gus Festival, to be held at Pier 32 on the Sunday of Memorial Day Weekend." Soon after receiving the letter, I started to hear my name on the radio. "So, Gus, how are the acts lining up for your festival?" "Well, let's see. Oh! We've got Marilynn and her Singing Dog!" "Wow!" Frank would exclaim. It was all terribly thrilling. I chose a Rondo and practiced ceaselessly, bringing in Chaucer only occasionally to prevent canine vocal strain. On the day of the Gus Festival, we arrived with plenty of time to spare. People came up to us, asking, "Is this Marilynn and her singing dog?" When it was our turn to perform, Chaucer and I mounted the stage, the spotlights blinding me to the 2,000 people facing us. I went to the piano and began the rondo. Chaucer didn't sing. I continued to play. Chaucer sniffed the edges of the stage. The dog wasn't singing! After all this, the dog wasn't singing! W.C. Fields said that you should never share the stage with animals or children. Well, I was a child sharing a stage with an animal, and the only thing I could think to do was to finish the song. So I did. Mercifully, that was when Frank and Mike stepped out onto the stage. One of them picked up the dog as the other welcomed the festival-goers. After a few minutes of easy banter, they looked into the crowd. "Whaddaya say?" they asked. "Should we give the dog another try?" The audience cheered. I sat back down at the piano and called to Chaucer. Upon hearing the opening notes, he ran to the piano and sang his little fuzzy heart out. When the song ended, I picked him up and nuzzled his neck. We took our bow to a standing ovation. Chaucer is long gone and I've grown up, but I'm thankful for the lesson he taught me: if you're willing to be a little goofy, somewhere there are thousands of people who will applaud you for it, even if it doesn't happen on your first try.