The Rip Van Wrinkler, Volume XIX, Issue 4, November 2015

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The Barkless Dog: Sounds of Silence

by Marcia Woodard

reprinted, wth permission

 

While some Basenjis don’t say much, for others the label “barkless” inspires overachievement in alternate forms of communication.

Basenjis yodel. Yodels generally translate as “I am so happy” or “I swear it wasn’t me—aren’t I cute?” Yodels sound like a trill combined with a deep-throat gurgle. Others could be mistaken for a peacock, seagull, or rooster. My favorite: a yawn that ends with a squeaky yodel. The common English translation is “Brrr” or “Barooo.” Some yodels are so soft you can’t be sure it happened; others are so loud you can’t talk on the phone. Some could pass for pirates: “Arghh, arghh” or Chewbacca from Star Wars: “Gggggaaaaaarrrrr, arrrhhhn.” Others are described unflatteringly as a strangulated belch or gremlins in the woods. Suggestions have been made that certain Basenjis be “deyodeled.” My mom says her male sounds like a heifer. Fanciers find all yodels cute.

Basenjis yodel on demand. A contest at the BCOA national determines best vocalization. More often, though, here’s how it goes for we who aren’t competition ready: a fancier wants his/her Basenji to demonstrate a yodel. The fancier attempts to manufacture excitement by dancing around, promising a treat, and cajoling (repeatedly) in a voice several registers above normal: “Lady, can you speak?” Lady is bored and mute. The fancier looks and sounds like a jack-in-the-box.

Basenjis howl—in response to certain tones or a rise in voice register. They sing along to fire sirens, church bells, and The Star Spangled Banner. Fancier Dena Rockas’ dog Jeremy always howled along with the original OxiClean television commercials featuring Billy Mays.

Basenjis howl when sad. At national specialties, a crated Basenji starts an “I am bored/lonely” howl and 100 others lend their voices. I stood among the crates in the Eisenhower Hotel ballroom in Gettysburg, PA in 2012, and the sounds had the impact of a pipe organ filling a church nave. I wanted to tilt back my head and sing about my sorrows too.

Basenjis shriek and scream. These sounds prompt neighbors to call the authorities because of suspected child abuse or domestic violence. Fancier Karen Martin Terry tells this story:
“In 1980, I had just moved into my apartment on the Presidio of Monterey (Army post) and had boxes everywhere. I put Keba in her crate so I could take a shower. When I came out, I heard pounding on the front door and opened it to find an MP with his hand on his weapon. Behind him was another MP, up against the wall, with his gun drawn like in the movies. The first MP asked if I was okay. I said ‘Yes,’ and he silently mouthed the question to me again to be sure. He asked if I was alone and then told me that he needed to come in. I stepped aside and the other MP slipped in too. They searched the entire apartment and even checked to make sure nobody was hanging off the balcony. When I asked them what was up, they said they received a report of a woman being beaten. I stood staring and then it hit me. I went into the back bedroom followed closely by the MPs, opened the crate, and Keba shot out. I pointed at the dog. The MPs stood there in disbelief while I explained about the noises Basenjis can make when they are unhappy. I spent the next few days meeting the neighbors and telling them about the dog.”

Basenjis mimic. Fancier Lee Cranmer’s dog Maxi brought an agility class to a standstill because the noises he made sounded like a cat: “When the instructor demanded we all leash our dogs until ‘the cat that must be loose in the barn is found,’ I tried to convince her the ‘meows’ came from Maxi. She became annoyed because she thought I was joking and endangering the non-existent cat. Of course, Maxi sat innocently by my side, silent. When one of the other dogs finally moved, Maxi started mewling again. Everyone laughed—except the instructor.”

Basenjis talk. “Mamamama.” I taught our bitch Cool Whip to say “I want one.” Later I regretted this because she wanted everything. Fancier Sheila Smith’s dog Jeremy could say “I love you,” “Hello,” and “No.” Sheila and Jeremy were kicked out of obedience class because he responded to the instructor’s directions one too many times.

Basenjis (some) do bark, which strikes me as funny since they don’t quite get it right and because barking contradicts their reputation. The Basenji version comes out as “Boof” “Buuf” or“Bwak,” and they don’t bark repetitively—it’s more like single warning shots from a cannon than a machine gun delivery. That, it turns out, is a good thing.

Marcia Woodard, marcia@barkless.com
Basenji Club of America website

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