Posse Chants

The Posse has been in the dumps lately. As Fall approaches, and the weather crisps up, the outdoor population of Rodentia, both the Munk and Sq varieties, have become even more active, obviously packing away winter provisions.

This depresses the Posse, they think an increase in opportunity should result in an increase in capture. As much as I explain that there's no more chance of catching two squirrels atop an 8 foot fence than there is of catching one squirrel atop the fence, they continue to mope. That kind of higher math exceeds the educational attainment of beagles.

It being a Saturday in Fall, I'm watching a couple of games of Barclay's Premier League Soccer from the UK; the Posse in their usual position on my lap. (They don't really care a whit about soccer, but they are mightily interested in my soccer watching snacks. They focus on popcorn like a Fox reporter on a Palin quote.)

The broadcast for some reason turns up the crowd mike for a bit, and the roaring, rhythmic soccer chant catches the attention of the entire Posse. Their eyes snap to the screen. Then snap back to me.

They jump off my lap and race out the back door to hold a high-level conference and peeathon in the back yard. When they come back in, Tuppence takes the “listen up” position in front of my chair.

“Write us a chant,” she yipped.

“A chant?”

“You're the word and typing guy, get to work.”

“And why would I write a chant for you?”

Beagle sigh. “Because we need encouragement to help catch the evil red Bush Tails. While you're at it, write two; one for offense, one for defense.”

“Defense?”

“None of your business.”

I changed tack, “And who will sing these chants?”

“Our fans.” A smug beagle is really unattractive.

“Fans?” You mean me?

“And here we thought you were dumb. Tommy said you couldn't win a spelling bee if all the other contestants were Tea Party members.” A sarcastic beagle is even more unattractive.

It's easier for me to write than to argue or reason with beagles, so I went to work. After all, soccer chants are just simple repetition set to familiar tunes.

So, first I did the obvious:

Oh, when the dogs,

Go barkin' in.
Oh when the dogs

Go barkin' in.
Oh, oh, I want to be in that number,
When the dogs go barkin' in.

Then a bit of a stretch:

Glory, glory Squirrels and Chipmunks,
Glory, glory Squirrels and Chipmunks.
Glory, glory, Squirrels and Chipmunks,
We'll chomp on you some day.

I woke the Posse from its nap, and read the offerings to them.

They did a slow take to each other, then just turned and walked from the room. I've seen that response from clients before. It usually comes just before they ask for a new Creative Team on their account.

Later, I heard a huge chorus of barking under the squirrel tree in the back corner of the yard.

I stepped out and commanded, “Quiet! Hush up, dogs! Get in here.”

Tommy looks over his shoulder and says, “We're chanting to the squirrels,” and went back to it.

I said, “Sounds like the usual mindless barking.”

Tuppence said, “Just like you wrote.”

I'm remembering why I don't write for clients any more.