Page 29 - THE SLOUGHI REVIEW Special Edition 5

T H E S L O U G H I R E V I E W 2 9

The allusions made, during these anecdotes, to the complaint that the Sloughi exhales
under the influence of torment, focus us on this trait of his character which sometimes
pushes him to express by voice what he feels deeply. They lead us, at the same time, to
deal with this voice, which is quite particular, and which he uses only infrequently.

Not very noisy by nature, rather silent even, like any self-respecting oriental, the Sloughi,
unlike most other dogs, only barks quite rarely. And yet his bark is rather a sort of hoarse

and brief yip, by which he shows his joy when he experiences it.

To convey his anger or his alarms, his deep throated voice, very impressive, is quite
reminiscent of the rant of a pack hound, interspersed with aggressive groans with dull
and threatening growls.

In boredom, worry or misfortune, his cry becomes a complaint which lengthens and
saddens, rises and falls, only to resume, die and begin again, like the howling and hungry
clamor of packs of wolves or a jackal on the hunt.

Under the black cloak of night, the impression is striking and painful, and nothing can
convey the thrill of anguish, the sensation of heavy unease, which awakens in the depths
of one's being with the slow and desolate voice of the Sloughi modulating his intimate

pangs or his confused pain in the poignant silence of the restless nights of the vast
“bled”*. A drawling call, moving and tragic, rising in deep throaty notes to turn into high-
pitched complaints and die out in strangled swirls of sobs: deep, nostalgic and wild howl,
which tears through the hostile darkness, like a lugubrious echo of the inconsolable
lamentation of souls in pain, wandering through the unfathomable mystery of invisible
worlds populated by unknown and formidable Djinouns. When this hallucinating

complaint resounds like this, everything around becomes silent; the thin, melancholy
sound of the shepherd's reed flute playing its tender chant to the stars; the short, shrill
cry of the little sand owl lying in wait on a stone; the loud, crying yelp of the voracious
jackals and even the macabre sneer of the stinking hyena. The disturbing voice of the
Sloughi in distress can only be heard, dominant and heartbroken, it imposes itself on the
Desert, seizes the darkness, pierces space and freezes the blood in the veins of those who
listen to it while shivering.

The Sloughi is driven by 3 passions: his master, horses and hunting.

*Backcountry