As I approached the desk,
the strain of a violin rose above the chatter, weaving a cheerful, countrified ribbon of sound through the general uproar.
Some of these howlers need a trigger, a siren to accompany or another dog to start the chorus, but some need no encouragement to throw back their heads and send a mournful song to the full moon, to
the strains of a violin, or to some unseen, unheard spirit.