In my continuing quest to explain what I’m thinking about, I’m pursuing a cursory examination of my sensory experiences. This week, the things I hear are under the microscope stethoscope.
The biggest challenge in telling you about what I hear is that I hear a lot.
For one thing, I have pretty big ears and I can focus them directionally — not unlike a super-stealthy NSA spying contraption. That comes in handy when I am walking with Daddy. I can swing my ears into the side position so I can hear what he’s saying like in the picture below. Or, I can point them forward to hear what’s right in front of me and ignore Daddy unless he’s yelling.1
Here are some of the things that I hear every day:
Daddy getting out of bed to start the day.
Momma’s alarm clock in the morning.
Momma’s baby-talking voice when she first greets me and assures me I’m a good girl.
The crinkly-crink of doggie treat bags being opened.
The garage door going up and down, regardless of whether I’m inside or out in the back yard.
The metallic clicking noises from the gate lock as Daddy unlocks it to take me on my walk.
The pleasing snap of the clip that assures me that I’m safely buckled into my walking harness.
On my walk, I hear a lot of other sounds:
My toenails clicking on the pavement.
The firefighters talking as they wash their trucks.
The sounds of cars, trucks, and motorcycles as they whiz by us.
Daddy’s relentless calls to heel, hold, lead, and sit. (See discussion below about ignoring what Daddy has to say.)
Other dogs’ toenails clicking on the cement of the university trail.
Squirrels chittering and chattering.
Grackles whistling and screeching in the treetops.
The wind as it sails by buildings and trees.
The voices of university students as they walk to breakfast or class.
The soft padding of kitty-cats as they make their way to the university feeding locations.
The sounds of airplanes in their landing pattern and, occasionally, the chop-chop-chop of the helicopter leaving the hospital to rescue someone.
The trains running through Abilene.
Countless sirens from the firefighters, the police, and the EMTs as they go about their work.
The rumble of the big yellow school buses.
Big pickups accelerating to beat the light at E.N. 16th and North Judge Ely Boulevard.
The click of the storm door as Momma unlocks it to welcome me home from my walk.
The sounds of lawn mowers and trimmers from the yards around us.
The calls and songs of the birds in our yards and the barking of other dogs close by.
The clinks and clanks of forks and spoons against dishes when Momma and Daddy eat.
Later in the night, the sounds from the television, Momma’s bath water running, and Daddy locking the doors.
And, in the times I’m alone, the friendly squeaks of my toy seahorse, Marina, as I gently squeeze her.
I told you that I hear a lot. So much of my thinking is centered on what sounds I don’t need to pay attention to.
For example, I don’t take a lot of notice of thunder — particularly if Daddy is out with me. I’m not sure that he knows that thunder happens when there is lightning. But I know that. And since Daddy is taller than me, I figure that God will make him the target of any flash of electrical energy that comes our way.
Daddy and his noises have their own special category of things I don’t pay a lot of attention to. Daddy shares a lot of redundant information. Granted, sometimes that’s necessary because of how I tune him out most of the time. But sometimes I can go a whole day without worrying whether something Daddy said was important to me.
Momma, on the other hand, is the object of my close attention. For one thing, her words are almost always friendly. Even when she scolds me for chewing on acorns or digging in the flowerbed, her reprimands tend to float in the air and sound a lot like “You’re a good girl.” I just love to hear her voice. That’s why I stick close to her whenever I can. And she gives me carefully selected bites of her food, unlike Daddy.
You may think that this sounds mystical, but I hear feelings, too. I hear fear and pain and frustration2 and sadness. I hear all of that on our walks and when I watch the news with Momma as she fixes supper. Mostly, I hear love. Just looking around, you can’t always tell it, but there’s a lot more love out there than anything else. You just have to listen to people up close. And the closer the better.
I suppose that I really have a great filter when it comes to listening. I hear a lot, but I have great discernment in choosing what I think is important. I have a soothing measure of peace about me that allows some things — the trivial things — to pass right by me. I don’t worry and I certainly don’t lose any sleep.
Momma tells me that makes me anxiety proof. And Daddy says just my presence is a sure cure for the worries that people get sometimes. I guess that’s why people like to pat me when we’re out. I’m a walking anxiety prescription.
No matter how I react — or don’t react — please know that I hear it all. And while some people doubt that we dogs have spiritual connections, I have the gift of packaging worries and sending them off to God for handling. I’m close by . . . and I’m listening. Come to think of it, so is God.
Momma has shared that Daddy seems to be capable of similar selective hearing. He does have really big ears, but I’m not sure that his ability to move them strategically is very highly developed.
Mostly from Daddy. But if you know Daddy, you are aware of his frustration issues.
Love the musings of your Mia. She has your number and describes Nancy as she really is...great..
Such a Good Girl!