Some Saturday and Sunday mornings, if I'm lucky, I am treated to a chorus of the most horrific, vile, gruesome sounds ever to hit the human cochlea. At first, I didn't notice much of a pattern. The sounds would usually last anywhere between 10 and 20 seconds, and would occur anywhere between 9:00AM and 11:00AM. Sometimes I would miss it: I'd already be out of the house, or in the shower... or, I'd have an assortment of noises already keeping my cerebral cortex occupied, such as the sounds of myself cursing as I burn breakfast, or Zach and I arguing about his tried and true method for cooking eggs. But, sometimes, I hear it. And it's God-awful.
I knew that it came from an animal. No machine, no invention, no artificial creation could create such an unholy cacophony. And, quite frankly, if mankind ever fashioned such a horrific device, then we are all doomed, damned, and done for. Upon first hearing it, I narrowed it down to an animal. As some of you know, I love taxonomy. So, I took a very systematic approach to determining which type of lifeform was making this disturbing sound. I thought I'd attempt to eliminate taxa phylum by phylum. The first few utterances of this ungodly abomination allowed me to eliminate most taxa that popped into my head:
Mollusca [Generally, one would expect clams to be seen, not heard.]
Arthropoda [Katydids can deliver loud choruses in a stagnant, summer evening in rural Arkansas. But, that seems - and sounds - natural.]
Rotifera [Non-vocal.]
Annelida
Nematoda
Platyhelminthes
Internal monologue: "Hmmmm... James, perhaps you should focus on what you know to be the most vocal phylum."
Chordata
Holy interruptus, Batman! The Phylum Chordata is home to you, me, and every monkey in the trees! And, by concentrating on the Subphylum Vertebrata (bony/cartilaginous vertebral column)/Superclass Gnathostomata (jawed), you'll have this problem solved in a jiffy! After hearing the sound for a few more weekends, I determined that no known fish (Chon/Oste-ichthyes), bird (Aves), amphibian (Aphibia), or reptile (Reptilia) could make it. Though, I was tempted to blame a bird. They're vocal... Anyway, based on the various locations around the house where I'd hear it, I'd determined that the sound originated from one of the houses south of my own, but quite close... within a block or so. I could hear it best from my bedroom windown, especially with the windows open.
So, I'm left with a mammalian culprit. You've three flavors of mammals: egg-layers (Prototheria), marsupials (Metatheria), and placentals (Eutheria). You guessed it: we, along with most other extant mammals, are eutherians. Shake hands with a eutherian. We won. Well, except for Australia and Tasmania... But, we've already driven the Thylacine to extinction, and are apparently working pretty damn hard on the Tasmanian Devil. As you can see, I'm still a fountain of useless knowledge. But, in this case, knowledge of famous Australian marsupials has proven useful in my quest to identify this pandemonious outcry I continued to hear Saturday and Sunday mornings between 9:00AM and 11:00AM.
The sound is definitely some sort of mammalian cry. It alternates between sounding like a desperate cry of suffering and a threatening challenge of physical superiority... or perhaps some combination of the two. Half the time, upon hearing it, I expected to look out the window and see a man screaming in agony in the streets, after having his intestines and other vital viscera recently ripped from him by a passing Velociraptor. Or perhaps Deinonychus. Other times, I'd expect to see two wolf-like creatures wrestling each other in the streets, one tearing at the other savagely in an attempt to reach the jugular. Once, I expected to see a T. rex, mouth agape, vomiting a rejected meal consisting of a screaming giraffe. Disgusting, I know. But, it illustrates the range of unholy sounds this single creature was uttering.
Which brings me back to the Metatheria. After searching the Mammalia far and wide for a creature known for such disturbing cries, whether in glee or pain, I came upon one conclusion: someone in my neighborhood has a Tasmanian Devil. Sarcophilus harrisii, a loud, thorough, and voracious eater. I pictured one, perhaps two devils, fenced in someone's backyard, who feast daily between 9:00 and 11:00 in the morning on fresh Triceratops meat, with the added prize of a live, wounded ferret or several baby vultures on weekends. On weekdays, being a good scientist, I'm out of the house and on my way to work before 8:00AM. Hence, I miss the mad feast. Tasmanian Devil calls can be heard from miles away. Thus, my initial assumption that the creature(s) must be near my house was wrong. They're probably penned up at the Woodland Park Zoo, or Minnesota. Somewhere far away. No wonder I wasn't seeing anything out of my windows when I heard those noises. I can't see all the way to Tierra del Fuego.
But then, this morning, as I was opening my bedroom window to gauge the temperature, I heard the sounds again. In the first split second, I looked down to the street, imagining a lion with late-stage esophageal cancer attempting to regurgitate a hairball. Then, I reminded myself, "James, those Tasmanian Devils are too far away for you to see."
But... there was something in the street... being led on a leash by a young thirtysomething. Through the trees, I could make out that the creature was approximately the size I'd expect for a Tasmanian Devil. I could even make out the mouth, and realized that the unholy cacophony was coming from this creature on a leash. I eagerly waited for the creature to emerge from behind the tree, so I could get my first glimpse of a Tasmanian Devil...
And instead saw the most adorable beagle standing there, tail wagging, barking this loathsome, gruesome, disgusting cry at a passing sheepdog.
Do all beagles sound this awful? Or, is this one merely possessed?
Posted by James at March 13, 2005 10:28 AM