‘I can’t waste it on an amateur singer..’ All the happiness vanished from his eyes as the insult fell from her mouth, though a dead smile still lingered on his lips. The insult hurt but it did not cut him as deep as she might have thought. He knew his own abilities, and he was anything but amateur. He would not take the word of a stranger, who hadn’t even heard him sing, against the audiences he had entertained throughout the world. Sure, occasionally there would be a canine that had no taste for the arts but he did not take it as a personal insult. Her words were meant to hurt him and he did not like dealing with those that would hurt others on purpose. It was his personal duty to bring laughter and joy into the world and they found it enjoyable to cause tears and anger wherever they went. In a way, canines like her were his rivals.
He shrugged as a reply, showing that he cared little one way or the other. “Understandable, I suppose.” That was a lie. He had never quite understood why some canines rushed from task to task; never resting or stopping to appreciate what was around them. The world was a beautiful place and deserved to be admired. Every song and every story was worth hearing. Every blade of grass and every creek were worth seeing. However, some just did not see it that way.
He turned away from her then and started toward the back of his cart. He looked at her over his shoulder as he left and spoke. “The world is only as cruel as you make it but is beautiful without anyone’s help.” With that parting gesture, he disappeared behind his painted cart. Seconds after he had left the soft sound of a stringed instrument filled the air. He gave it a few experimental strums and fiddled with the strings to get it perfectly tuned before he began.
There was a fair maid dwellin'
Made every youth cry well-a-day
Her name was Barbara Allen.”
“All in the merry month of May
When green buds they were swellin',
Young Jeremy Grove on his deathbed lay
For love of Barbara Allen.”
“He sent his man unto her then,
To the town where she was dwellin'.
"You must come to my master dear,
If your name be Barbara Allen,”
For death is printed on his face
And o'er his heart is stealin'.
Then haste away to comfort him,
O lovely Barbara Allen."