When it comes to a companion, I’d rather have a guitar than a dog. Now I’ve had dogs, and I love them. And my kids have had dogs, and their kids. Dogs are all that is written about them, and “man’s best friend” is a good descriptor. But here’s the thing: A guitar doesn’t poop on the rug, run away, bark at neighbors, have to be fed, bathed and combed, and all that other stuff that goes with a dog.
Just by strumming a chord or a string of single notes, a guitar shares with you its beauty. You can pick it up and set it down at any time of day or night and it won’t mind. It contains all your songs, your musical dreams, your soul. And if a relative or anyone else plays it, those notes are held in memory too. Just like a dog, you can talk to it. It will last for years and years, and is always there, never complaining, just waiting. And when you won’t be around any longer, you can leave your guitar and all the music you have planted in it to someone else and it will be that person’s lifelong companion, always reflecting everything about you. I’m not sure that works with dogs.
And it’s not just the music part that makes a guitar: it’s the physical guitar itself; its shape, size, finish, design, beautiful wood composition, the box and neck: in short, all that comprises the instrument. A guitar is lastingly lovely to see, lying on a sofa, resting in a stand, leaning against a tent, wherever it happens to be. Add these wonderful features to the artistry, the sound, tone, and musical potential that’s always there and you have the complete package. So give me the guitar. I’ll love your dog, pet and feed your dog, even sleep with your dog, and let the dog look soulfully into my eyes, whimper its best-friend love, and protect me against people who mean me harm. That I will of course love. Sincerely. But in the end, it’s the guitar. I just can’t help it.