When I flush my toilet, it refills the tank. Just when it is almost finished refilling, it begins to sing. It starts out with a baritone voice, then gradually goes up in scale to a medium range, holds that note for a minute, and then stops. It’s a rather pleasing sound, never too shrill.

There is, of course, a scientific explanation, which I believe to be accumulated calcium deposit in the valve that stops the flow when the float reaches full height.

Still, I can’t help anthropomorphizing it just a little. I appreciate the song, because even when I’m in another room, I know that it has once again performed its function, readying itself for the next flush. That is important to know.

My toilet is not singing for its supper; not thanking me for my deposit. It is singing with pride, and with gratitude for its unerring ability to refill the tank and stop, with no leak due to improper seating of the stopper.

That is not always easy to achieve. There was a time in the not-so-distant past when the chain that lifted the stopper to initiate the flush would sometimes snag the edge of the stopper as it began its descent to the flush-hole, causing a gap that would leak tank-water continuously.

As we know, wasting water is unwise. Heat, drought, and pollution often threaten fresh water supplies, and every droplet of hydrogen oxide may be precious. So, naturally, I set out to re-engineer the mechanism to operate infallibly.

The key was the chain. It had to be long enough, but able to stay out of the way at the critical moment. The older style used a rigid guided rod instead of a chain, but this was the new style. After observing several flush processes, I conceived a solution. The lower part of the chain should be covered with a flexible plastic tube. I found some in my used parts supply, cut it to size, and slipped it over the chain. It performed just as I had imagined it would.

And so, when I hear the song of my toilet, as I might hear the song of a bird in a tree outside my window, I know that all is well.