Hop out of the truck the lava rock crunches beneath your feet, a calm day, slight sound of wind swirling in your ears; steam vaporizing into the cool air with every anxious breath.
The guns are loaded.
The dogs are let out of the kennels. The melody begins, the tapping feet, bolting through the cattails and sagebrush. Noses down to the ground, sniffling, and panting in between trying to take a solid breath yet never letting up on the goal in mind, find Pheasants.
This song could take hours to compose or merely minutes. Improvisational at times and others perfectly set to the intended rhythm. The dogs run too far ahead, the conductor blows a whistle at what seems to be the beginning of the 4/4 count. The dogs bolt back. Men's boots pounding on the moist soft ground, an after effect of the Orchestra of Rain from days prior. The interlude has turned into a minute and a half marching band solo, no brass, woodwinds, nor snare drum. Only a whistle, rhythmic pounding of feet and the ambient sounds of creatures rushing through the brush.
Rhythm is lost, marching stops, breath gets louder, hearts are beating. Soon a Roster must jump up and send out the climax sounds of cluck cluck. Anticipation grows more as you hear the snout drip from your nose, the chatter of your molars reminding you you did not wear enough layers. That thought is soon lost as you imagine the sound, the concluding notes, of what is going to be greater than Tchaikovsky's Overture of 1812 complete with cannons.
Marching continues for another twenty-three minutes until wait, you do not hear the dogs rushing through the brush, the marching stops, the breathing stops, even your heart stops. The only sound still in existence at this moment is the thoughts of what is to come. "Up" is all that is spoke, dogs leap as they have been coiling the springs in their back legs like a jackrabbit, cluck cluck BOOM cl BOOM-OM cluck cluck BOOM BOOM cluck BOOM BOOM! click.
The loud sound echo's through the valley as the wait for swirling noises of the cattails returns.
There it is.
Moments later the dogs prance up and drop birds at your feet proud of a job well done, the hunter can eat tonight, the sports lovers feel the rush and high-five about perfect shots, the vegetarians cry inside, the lover of sound is captivated by the music he just experienced. The audio was not recorded but can forever be replayed with his memories, not many songs sound greater than this.
