Yes - Leave It

How a common dog training command keeps an earworm alive, no matter how many times I think I've squashed the sonic bugger

Dec 01, 2023

Sophie, a German Shepherd puppy I walk 3x/week. Don’t fall for that adorably cute face, she will steal your lunch in a heartbeat.

“Leave it,” I call out with vociferous confidence.

Sophie stops. Her snout is mere inches from the plastic wrapping from what looks to have recently housed some sort of pastry. I spot what I suspect are chocolate frosting remnants attached to said wrapping.

I watch Sophie’s canine brain work through her options.

I can ignore my human companion, grab this sweet-smelling item, and suffer the consequences. Or I can show him that I am a quick learner, able to control my impulses, and hope that he will give me one — or two or three — of those dried liver treats in the bag on his hip.

Sophie is a strong-willed, six-month-old German Shepherd puppy. She knows several commands. Sit. Stay. Wait. Down. Heel. (Well, heel is a work in progress).

And then there is “Leave it.”

This command is saved specifically for when she is about to grab something she shouldn’t off the ground, a table, or the floor.

It’s a command I utter on average a dozen times a day as a full-time dog walker. Even the most well-trained adult dog will lose all semblance of obedience when in close proximity to a half-eaten jelly donut, slice of pizza, or chicken wing. I can yell, “Leave it!” with a wrathful fury, and it will make no difference.

And who can blame them? Their noses are like a million times1 more sensitive than us humans. And they’re closer to the ground too, where the delectably greasy odors must be overwhelming.

If I hadn’t had a scare with my own dog ingesting a toxic treat, I’d be a little less hyper-vigilant.

About ten years ago, on New Year’s Eve, my previous dog, Stella, unbeknownst to me, got a hold of a cannabis brownie during our afternoon walk.

An hour later, she was hardly able to stand; she’d pissed the couch and was drooling incessantly. My wife and I were certain she’d eaten a poisonous mushroom and rushed her to the emergency vet. We both thought that Stella wouldn’t make it to the new year as we held her in our laps in the waiting room.

Turns out it was cannabis toxicity. The vet gave her activated charcoal to absorb the toxins and offered to keep her overnight for observation. We took them up on the offer, as we had NYE plans and were hoping not to miss them.

As the sometimes-pot-smoker of our relationship, I got the evil stank eye on the drive back. I didn’t think I’d left anything out that Stella could have eaten. When we arrived home, I immediately checked my stash drawer — it was closed, and nothing was missing.

Then we remembered that Stella had eaten something off the ground on the walk earlier. We never saw what it was, but it must have been a pot brownie or a gummie.

With the proliferation of cannabis cookies, brownies, candies, and other assorted sweets, especially in the Bay Area where I live, the chances that an errant morsel on the pavement might contain THC components are higher than in most cities in the world. (I thought Amsterdam might rate higher, but apparently, there’s been a crackdown on cannabis cafes and stores in recent years.)

Stella was back to her old playful self when we picked her up the next day. My wife and I heaved giant sighs of relief.

YES from L-R: Alan White (drums), Trevor Rabin (guitar/vox), Jon Anderson (vox), Tony Kaye (keyboards), Chris Squire (bass/vox)

It didn’t take long before my command for the pooches to “leave it!” took on a musical timbre.

Specifically, it would be barked out as: “Ah Aaaaaaaaah….Leave it.” Just like how Jon Anderson, Chris Squire, Alan White, Tony Kaye, and Trevor Rabin of the band Yes combine their voices on their hit song “Leave It” from their 1983 album, 90125.

I would like to have used the verb “sung,” but I come from a long line of tone-deaf Goldbergs. But has it, you might wonder, ever kept us from drunkenly belting out Barry Manilow songs at karaoke bars? Perhaps that’s the reason I don’t have kids.

It’s more likely that the pups that avoided putting the mysterious morsel in their mouths responded more from the shock of my crackly, extended “aaaaaaaah” sound than from my commanding, confident demeanor.

Whatever works, right? If my singing voice can stop a canine from ingesting a potentially poisonous pavement particle, then I’ve done my job.

The band-member family tree for the progressive rock band Yes would confound the most tenured genealogist.2 I am convinced that they named the group Yes because it was what they said whenever another musician asked if they could join the band.

They’d gone through a dozen different line-up changes by the time they recorded their 11th and most commercially successful album, 90125.

Prior to 90125, Yes had released the album Drama (1980), the first to not include vocalist Jon Anderson. The Buggles duo Trevor Horn and Geoff Downes took the place of Anderson and keyboardist Rick Wakeman.

The tighter, new-wave elements that Horn and Downes brought to the band enraged many Yes fans, who never wanted them to play anything after 1972’s Close To the Edge. Even with the relative acceptance of most of the prior member changes, it apparently was sacrilege for anyone other than Anderson to sing lead vocals.

I’ll write about my love for the album Drama and The Buggles in a future post.

Yes had “officially” broken up after the Drama tour (too much Drama?) in 1981. Bassist Chris Squire, wanting to put together a new band, brought in drummer Alan White and guitarist Trevor Rabin. They were going to call their band Cinema. Early Yes keyboardist Tony Kaye also came on board.

Apparently, the label thought it was better to keep the Yes name, and eventually, the rest of the band agreed and soon invited Jon Anderson back to sing. The story is way more muddled than that, but there are plenty of music history books (and Substacks!) that can provide such details.

It was “Owner of a Lonely Heart” that turned Yes into an MTV staple, that transformed a dinosaur band into a top-40 pop sensation. Listening to it now, it’s amazing that this song was so successful, as although it is melodic, it’s a strangely structured song, with an even stranger and structured video.

The rest of the album holds up amazingly well 40 years later, with songs like “Hold On” and “Changes” loaded with stellar musicianship and labyrinthian, layered vocals. It’s the sort of album that reveals a ton of sonic gifts when wearing headphones.

But I can’t wear headphones when I’m walking the pups. I need to give them my complete attention, lest they notice the mysterious meatball or cannabis cookie before I do.

Should one of my dogs listen to my “Leave it” and actually follow the command, I will often reward them by giving them a treat from my pouch. Sometimes I toss it up ahead and call out, “Find it!”

This both reinforces their good behavior and moves them past the item in question.

The “find it” treat toss has a third benefit, though, which I’m now realizing: It helps tamp down the power of the “Leave It” earworm. If I were to sing “Ah Aaaaaaaaaaaah, Find It,” it might take some of the song’s repeating power away.

That is until someone writes a contagiously catchy song called “Find It.”

I’m betting one of you is already on the job.

Earworms and Song Loops

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