Author: Philip Caron
Date: 2014-07-29 17:37
I was sitting first chair in an outdoor band concert in a little town in New Hampshire. We were set up on the village green in front of a beautiful white meeting house. It was a gorgeous day. The audience watched from the big lawn in front, some seated in chairs, some on blankets spread out, some standing. Children were moving around, dogs, etc.
During one piece, the clarinet part had a longish rest section, and I was sitting and counting with my clarinet across my lap. A good-sized dog that had been trotting happily around took a pass along in front of the band. As he passed by me, he turned his head, and his lolling tongue gave my reed a big sloppy lap. That happened just as the rest was coming to an end.
I picked up my clarinet and gaped at it briefly, in horror, and then it was time to play, so I did. It turned out I was the only one in my section who made that entrance, because they'd all seen what that dog did, and they were suffused with hilarity. Laughter from the audience was clearly heard as well. The conductor, unaware of the licking, peered over at our section with knitted brows, but we soldierd on.
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The Clarinet BBoard
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