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from Chapter 1 - Bubba the Blues-Rhymes-with-Dude-Hound

Yeah they say I’m crazy ‘cause I sing and play the blues

I’m here to testify I go crazy for them blues

Ole Willie got it right, he said the blues is truth

I’m here to testify I’m a fool for the blues

Yes, I’m here to testify I go crazy for them blue –oo- oos

Scooter was thunderstruck as Bubba continued singing on:The Blood-Rhymes-With-Dude Hound’s deep- throated growl was so huge and powerful that Scooter completely forgot about his fetch game. “Whoa,” he yipped, “That is way cool!”  Is that the blues? I like it. I like it. Yes I surely do!”

Bubba looked at him staring straight down his long bulb-tipped sniffer. “Scooter, ” he said pausing to swallow a piece of something.  It might have been cheese that Bubba’s singing brought forth from somewhere deep in his cavernous canine mouth.  He continued, “As I like to say, you gotta’ understand, the blues is like a half-eaten sandwich you find lyin’ on the sidewalk.  Give it a sniff and you might like it.” 

from Chapter 2 - Reeeeeeally?

After several minutes foraging in the now freshly overturned trashcan, Bubba led Scooter down the driveway that ran right next to Silvia’s house.  Bubba told Scooter that he knew Sylvia would still be fast asleep on her sofa, as was her custom even though it was now mid-morning.

The house was indeed quiet and Bubba thought about making a joke about Tchaikovsky’s blues band being on break but he knew both his attempt at a joke and a dig at Sylvia would be lost on his little friend. Scooter knew very little about Tchaikovsky, and much less about blues bands.  And with his obsession with constantly chasing after yellow tennis balls, Scooter knew absolutely nothing about taking a break.

from Chapter 4 - Sylvia's Mother Said . . .

“Now ‘dis is the blues, Bubba– the real deal,” Scooter yipped.  “Listen to ‘dem drums and ’dat throbbing bass.  ‘Dat harmonica it’s out of ‘dis world!”  Scooter could hardly contain himself.  His head bobbed from side to side and his tongue hung to the floor. Scooter’s tail beat out the quarter notes right in time with the snare drum and he began to hum (more like whine) along.

Bubba hushed him, “Quiet Scooter!  Calm down and just listen.  Quit your spinnin’ circles and for goodness sakes stop tryin’ to sing!  It’s worse than ‘dem wollerin’ cats.”

At once Scooter brought his tail to a stop, almost.  He now only wagged the downbeats - only one thwack on the very first beat.  Bubba’s gruff dismissal of his singing sure hurt but Scooter didn’t want to show it.  He knew Bubba had plenty of reason to be more than a little grumpy this afternoon.  Scooter was just happy to be getting this chance to have his look-see at these blues.  

 

 

 

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