Seymour, The Music Critic

Join Wimberley humorist Susan Rigby as she attempts to navigate “the small stuff.”

Normally, I would not take criticism about my singing from a dog. Everyone else seems to be fine with my singing when I am in a group singing Happy Birthday. The problem seems to arise when I am home, with just Seymour. I will be listening to some oldies that I know most of the words to and begin humming, then singing quietly and finally getting into the music with loud singing and a little dancing. That seems to be when the critic named Seymour lets me know how I sound. At first he just gives me a side eye and purses his little lips. Then he may move under the dining room table. Finally, if I happen to be repeating the chorus too loudly and too many times, he will run out the doggy door.

Now, I know I am not the best singer. In high school, I was in Choir B, not realizing that there is Choir A and the rest of the would-be singers end up in Choir B. There is no Choir F.

I am sure you are still wondering why Seymour’s opinion of my singing matters to me? Well, I have never actually heard him sing, but when an emergency vehicle passes, he can imitate the sound of the sirens to perfection. He has the pitch down perfectly. I run outside with him when we hear a fire truck pass just so I can bask in the perfection of his voice.

Seymour was about two years old when I adopted him. I wonder if his previous owner was a wanna-be singer who could no longer take Seymour’s disapproval.

It is not just me whom he critiques. He is fine when hearing music on the radio, as much of it is auto- tuned, but when we walk past a live band, he runs the other way. I think he hears minor imperfections that hurt his delicate ears.

I wonder if American Idol could use a new judge?