Slobbering syncopation

Isn't it strange that humans appear to be the only creatures capable of getting down to a funky groove? Just last night, while waiting for the musical stylings of Broken Social Scene, what did I spy there at my feet? Why, a young German Shepard, whose lanky appendages indicated to my keen analytical mind that I was examining a youthful specimen.

And I watched her, as her tongue hung slobbering from her smiling mouth, watched as it bounded up and down as she breathed, 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4. Human hands regularly came into view, to stroke her head or back, and at such times her tail would swing brazenly through the air, smacking the legs of those standing by her, thwack-thwack-thwack. "What is this glorious beat-keeper?" I wondered aloud, "how are her beats so funky, so dear to my heart?" But then, as the band took the stage and started in on one of their cacophonic orchestrations, all rhythm keeping stopped by said canine. She laid her body down and proceeded to sleep. Now that's a music critic for you.

In their day-to-day goings on, animals showcase a wide range of rhythmic sensitivities. Close your eyes the next time a horse comes your way, of course first ensure you're not standing in the noble beast's way, lest ye be violently trodden on, crushed under hoof, left a mutilated corpse, your final breath feebly emitting a "damn the equine race" before you pass from this world. Standing safely out of the way though, eyes closed, you will hear the most playful tune played by the animal's feet, cloppity-clop-clop, covering the gamut of possible tempos, from a slow down-beat waltz to a frenzied swing. Open your eyes and note how the beast swings her plump hind quarters in flawless time keeping, she's a veritable four-hooved metronome.

And such learned displays of rhythm isn't solely the domain of the higher orders of life, but lesser creatures also display an uncanny inclination towards groovy ways of being. Who hasn't woken to the irritating buzz, the monotonous vibrations of some insect or other in the depths of the night? What is the silly creature up to you may wonder, inspecting the unique folds and curves of your ear you suppose, likely with insidious intentions in mind, and so your hand darts up and swats randomly in the darkness. The buzzing goes away for a moment. But like an emotional crescendo following a silent bridge, there it is once more, with a vengeance, the pitch and cadence suggesting the tiny creature's renewed investment in carrying out its primitive task.

The animal world is constantly displaying its tendency towards rhythmatic ways of life, and yet for all their impressive skills, not one appears capable of enjoying the many varieties of human-made music. The exceptions prove the rule: a parrot which bobs in time to Ray Charles belies the patient training of its earnest owner. No, the animals are not impressed by our passion for musical creativity.