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Many years later, however, as a kind of recompense, I couldn't resist a bugle sitting in the window of an army-navy store in Saratoga Springs. I can now blow a semblance of the cavalry charge as well as Gunga Din's warning call, complete with the descending fadeout. I have since toyed with the idea of composing a Call for Papers 1982 in sports to go 1982 in sports with all those notices one gets for impending academic 1982 in sports conferences. In the woods, where I spent some of my happiest times with my dogs, I got to recognize bird calls and could even imitate some. I was also pretty good at reproducing barnyard sounds. My cock's crow was much more authentic than either the English cock-a-doodle-doo or the Spanish qui-qui-ri-qui, both of which show the essential impossibility of translation.
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