About a bazillion years ago I was in a band. We were mostly just a high school garage band. We did probably less than thirty gigs before breaking up. The keyboardist was my girlfriend. The drummer was my best friend. The guitarists were two guys from my church. And the singer was a douchebag.
So it was probably a very familiar experience for many of you. We usually practiced, at least initially, in the drummers garage. He lived out in the country so we could play loudly.
He had five...count 'em, five, dogs. Most of them got to where they recognized our cars and would scatter as soon as band members started showing up.
But the oldest dog, a shaggy cowdog mutt, would wait for me to put my rig together and promptly lay down directly in front of my amp and go to sleep...before we started playing. He would sleep throughout our practice, waking up when the music finally stopped, and then wandering off.
When he went outside, the other dogs would come back but not until.
