Finding Your Voice

It began with a barely audible whine and grew into an anxious whimper. Then a full grown bark and suddenly a whole range of sounds accompanied by a mad dance. The small brown dog had found her voice. Gone her shyness and timidity, gone her sweet and affectionate chin nudges - she burst forth into impatient song, demanding to go outside without an umbrella, into the cold rain, brave and grown up. I felt a tug of nostalgia for a time when she would've burrowed back into my arms and buried her face in my neck, apprehensive about the dismal weather and frightened by the sounds of thunder. Now she trots outside, proudly keeping pace with the black dog and refusing to come when she's called.

I suppose it was inevitable, this growing up and away, this need to demonstrate her independence and break free. And perhaps I should feel proud that I've raised her to be so close to fearless of the outside world. I watch her scamper in and out of the shrubs, charge the fence at the sound of another dog, wade into the thick weeds and emerge dragging a fallen tree limb twice her size. A squirrel darts across the back fence and she explodes into motion and noise. She is drenched by the rain, shivering and miserable, but unwilling to concede and it is several more minutes before she finally comes to the back door, freezing and soaked to the skin. I gather her up in a towel and dry her off, turn on her heating pad and cover her with a blanket. She looks pitiful and happy all at the same time. The black dog, her fur so thick that the rain barely penetrated it, gives a vigorous shake then curls up beside us, laying her head on the edge of the dog bed and falling asleep almost at once. The outside world had been conquered and put in its place despite the pouring rain and both dogs are well pleased with themselves.

The rain continued all day and all through the night and the next morning the entire little scene was replayed. The cats watched in disbelief, mystified by the concept that any self respecting animal would willingly leave a warm bed and a full food bowl. Even Patch, who was converted to an inside cat upon her arrival several years ago, displayed no interest in the world outside the back door. All things change with time and experience and we each find our own voice at our own pace. Some harmonize, some solo, some sing off key but we're all in the choir.