Plunk

It was our dog, Buddy, who alerted first. He sprang to his feet and emitted a low growl of warning, which caused me to wake up immediately.

“What is it, boy?” I asked stupidly, sleepily.

Then I heard it – a small sound, a plunking of an acoustic guitar’s string. “But how?” I thought, knowing that the only guitar I own sat in it’s stand in the other room.

By this time, Buddy is off the bed and standing in the bedroom doorway. And while I cannot see him, I’m certain his hackles are up and the short hairs between his shoulders are standing bristle straight.

I fumble for the light and again I hear the plunking of guitar strings.

This time though, I’m certain it’s coming from the room next and I’m ready to investigate. Turning on that bedroom’s light, I find our dog, Roxy, laying on the bed looking in the direction of the guitar.

I swear her facial expression screams: “So, you heard it, too? Please tell me you heard that, too.”

A cursory look at the guitar finds nothing out of the ordinary. I stand there, watching, listening, spending at least ten minutes, waiting, hoping, wishing I could see or hear an explanation for this puzzlement.

Nada, so I calm the dog’s down and invite Roxy to come sleep with Buddy and me – and we return to bed. Not another sound is heard for the rest of the morning.

As usual, I get up to feed the dogs and help my wife, Mary get off to work. I stop in to have a look at the guitar after she leaves and again, I find nothing singular about the thing.

After the sun rises, I decide to go in a really investigate the musical instrument. I pick it up and strum the strings – “Ooo, it’s really outta tune,” I tell myself.

Then I hear it – a faint scratching noise followed by a slight scurrying from inside the hollow cavity. I try to look into it through the soundport, the hole on the face of the guitar, but it’s too dark to see into.

I hear more scurrying, more scratching and then it comes to me.

Quickly, I race outside with the guitar and lay it face down in the grass. With in seconds, a gray ball of energy darts from under the wood and strings, making that mysterious sound in the night one more time before disappearing into the grass.

A mouse. It had climbed the guitar and using the strings, was investigating the soundport when it must have fallen in.

Mystery solved. Now it’s time to set a few mouse traps around the house as winter is coming.

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Published by

Tom Darby

Former radio personality and newspaper reporter

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