Great Dane: DaDane 04/05/04

This obviously was some kind of a joke. Bob Dylan was due to appear that evening in concert at the Columbia Township Auditorium. We'd had our tickets for over a month. Tonight was the big night and we were pumped.

At this point my mind was racing. No way was this Bob Dylan. But what if it was? I couldn't think of anything to say. I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

I racked my brain. Who could be calling me, pretending to be Bob Dylan? This was crazy. My husband was back inside now, listening to my end of the conversation with an puzzled look on his face.

Bang went the receiver. I turned to my husband. "You'll never guess who that was," I said.

Saturday Afternoon
It was a fine Spring day. We went to the zoo, bought our plants (what a haul!), and brought them home to Merlin. He had a great (dane) time sniffing them while we enjoyed our lunch out on the back patio. Afterwards I went to my studio and began "googling" for information about Bob Dylan. I discovered the little-known fact that Bob Dylan does indeed have blue Great Danes. He has had the Blues for decades, usually two at a time. And yes, his current Danes are Elvis (makes sense, doesn't it?) and Victoria. You may have read, recently, about Dylan's controversial decision to appear in a series of television commercials for Victoria's Secret. The ads will be running all this month. Nobody can figure out why Dylan agreed to do them. (Hello? Maybe it 's because his dog is named VICTORIA. Has anybody else thought of that?!)

I also learned that Dylan's concert tour, called the "Never Ending Tour, began sixteen years ago. Hence the name. Dylan spends nearly half of his days on the road and averages 100+ concerts a year. I suppose with a schedule like that, you'd look for something interesting to do when you aren't actually on the stage. Wouldn't you?

Saturday Night
The concert began at 8pm. We had front row seats, center balcony. There was no opening act, just Dylan and his 4-man band. He took the stage wearing a long black coat and a white cowboy hat. He never acknowledged the audience; he just walked over to his electric piano and began playing. As I listened to him bark and growl his way through the first song, "Maggie's Farm," I thought to myself, "Yeah, the guy has Danes."

It was a good concert. We expected an intermission at some point, but Dylan played straight through – for almost two hours! Then he simply left the stage, without saying a word. He was followed by the other musicians. The audience roared (and stomped) for more. The minutes ticked by. Dylan and his guys finally came back. Their encore was long and oh-so-good. Dylan paused midway through to introduce the band. I listened carefully. Was this the guy who had phoned me earlier? I couldn't really tell. The encore finally ended with a sizzling rendition of "All Along the Watchtower."

I gotta tell you, Dylan can put on a great concert when he wants to.

The Phone Call
Leaving the concert, we got caught in heavy traffic. We'd parked close to the concert hall and now we were paying the price. Dylan, or whoever it really was, had said he'd call in an hour. It should take us 35 minutes to get home, but we hadn't planned on being stuck in traffic. We lost 15 minutes. We decided to try an alternate route that might get us home faster. Bad choice. We didn't expect an 11pm freight train. (A Saturday night train?! Give me a break.) Another 15 minutes down the tubes.

While we sat in the car we had plenty of time to wonder: What was going on back at the house? Was it Toad Night? Was it really Bob Dylan who called? Would he actually try to come out to see the toads?

We finally reached our driveway. We knew we were late, but hopefully not too late. As we drove through the woods we looked for toads along the way. Not a one. We rolled down our windows to see if we could hear anything. Not a peep. Drats! The toads were sleeping in.

We heard the phone ringing in the house just as we were getting out of the car. We ran to the door, side-stepping a solitary toad on the walkway. My husband had the keys. In his haste, he dropped the house-key. I moaned. He found the key and thrust it into the lock. The door swung open just as the phone stopped ringing. I ran inside (dodging Merlin who was blocking the doorway, as usual) and I lunged for the phone. A dial-tone – a flat, lousy dial-tone – was all I heard. I turned to my husband. "Maybe he'll call back," I said.

Toad Night
Well, he never called back. We still don't know who "he" was, but we like to think it was, in fact, Bob Dylan. I guess the only way we'll ever know is if he posts a comment here on DaDane of DaWeek.

HEY BOB, ARE YOU OUT THERE?!