The Dead Dog

This happened some time ago, a long time ago. It was before my hormones had kicked-in, because life still seemed fairly calm. I guess that why I am remembering it at all is that I am now living nearby where this event transpired. My father had asked me if I wanted to play trombone or trumpet; not whether I wanted to play music because that was not an option. My pop had been a trombone player in a band, and had a trombone. I thought that I could postpone music lessons if I said trumpet, but damned if he didn't show up the next day with a silver trumpet. I took to blatting out various sorts of tunes and dixieland jazz with not much difficulty. I got into the school band and found it to be more restrictive than instructive, and got private lessons for a couple of years from a guy who played trumpet for the Army Herald Trumpeters. We played a lot of etude studies that didn't have names but just numbers and keys. One thing the army trumpeter showed me is how to play a note continuously forever without appearing to take a breath, but sneaking a breath. Eventually, when my hormones did kick-in and also I heard the song "Yakkity Sax," I traded my trumpet for an antique French saxophone. Later, I picked up guitar and flute and some piano. But when I was playing in the school band, sometimes we'd stay after school for band practice, especially if we were preparing for a concert. When I stayed after for band practice, I'd catch the late bus to get home, and I had to walk the entire length of Spruce Street, part of which went past a vacant lot that was overgrown with scrub pine trees. One day, I noticed a sort of odd smell but didn't think too much of it and continued on home. It was late Spring and getting warmer by the day. After a few days, the smell was getting stronger and I was curious as to what could possibly smell so terrible. I followed the scent a short distance off the road and into the scrub pines, and there was a dead dog. I'm not sure if it was hit by a car, maybe; or someone had dumped a dead dog in the trees. The dead dog was medium-sized, black, beginning to bloat, and had a lot of flies buzzing around it. Worth maybe several moments of inspection. During the subsequent days, the smell only grew worse, and soon I would gag, necessitating holding my breath to get past the dead dog. As the days grew warmer and the decomposition of the dog accelerated, the sphere of foul air grew larger until I had to both hold my breath and run to get through the zone of death without wretching. I was carrying my trumpet case by the handle with my left hand, swinging it widely as I ran, and somehow felt my shoulder move out of joint. To this day, my left shoulder still slides easily out of joint and I am reminded of the stench of the dead dog. The song Black Dog conjured evil smells of a decaying dog corpse!

Hey, hey, mama, said the way you move
Gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove.
Oh, oh, child, way you shake that thing
Gonna make you burn, gonna make you sting.
Hey, hey, baby, when you walk that way
Watch your honey drip, cant keep away.

I have recently gotten an Alesis xGuitar that has lots of built-in effects that you usually have to add-on with stomp boxes. I won't detail everything because there are lots of online reviews of this guitar. I imagine that xTreme Elvis would play an xGuitar. What color is the xGuitar? IT'S BLACK, JUST LIKE THE DAMNED DEAD DOG!