I’ll bet you think they sit patiently by the front door waiting for their beloved master to return from seeing Type O Negative or Pantera. You probably think they’re guarding your house from intruders while you’re off having a good time at Shoe Suede Blues feat. Peter Tork. That they’re willing to risk life and limb to protect their master’s belongs.


You’re getting ready to go out and see a show, maybe Nine Days or Fuel. You don’t give a second thought to your dog, figuring that he’ll sleep the night away and never even know you’re gone.

Your dog, however, already knows about your plans.

He’s no fool. Maybe he heard you talking about it on the phone, or perhaps he caught the Ticketmaster scent on your clothes. No matter, dogs always know when their masters are going to a concert. Plus, they know which artists and bands you’ve seen. They know the difference between Nelly Furtado and Morbid Angel. Dogs are like that.

And they let every dog in the neighborhood know when you’re going to a concert. Usually that collie down the street brings the beer, the German Shepherd around the corner, the sandwiches, the doberman next door, the chips. Pretty soon your house has gone to the dogs.

So go ahead, see as many shows as you like. Your dog and his pals will love you for it. You’ll be sitting in the audience, waiting for Keb’ Mo’ or Dixie Dregs to hit the stage, and they’ll be hunkered down at your kitchen table, swilling brew, smoking cigars and playing poker.

Oh, and I’ll be there, of course. I’m the guy who always paints their picture.