As I type this I am listening to a true Southern concert.
My Bluetick, Elvis, is "singing" at a passing train. The railroad tracks are about two miles away, but you can hear the whistle clear as day. He's lonely since his sister Marilyn was hit by a car a couple of years ago, which seems to make his howls all the more plaintive.
My bride has finally grown accustomed to Elvis giving us concerts, but she is having trouble coping with the fact that he has taught her little kick-me rat dog (Chihuahua, Weenie dog and God only knows what else) how to "sing."