Barking

There was something in the woods behind our house this morning that both Tellie and Skylar either heard or smelled.  When I let them out at 5:30 they barked and barked and barked and barked.  It pierced the early morning quiet and overpowered the birdsongs being tweeted by the Robins as they welcomed the day.  I'm sure the incessant barking woke the neighbors and were making them grumble "Damn, dogs. Why don't those people shut them up?"  I expected the police to show up at any moment and arrest us because the woofing dogs  had broken some sort of county sound ordinance which limited undue noise.

Skylar stood in the door way, frantically shouting "I know you're there and you know you're there now show your face and let me get a look at you!"  Tellie had come back into the house and was pawing at a window in the TV room.  She seemed to be telling Skylar "There are deer out there, there deer out there!"   I of course couldn't see anything untoward.  I didn't hear anything except the frantic barking. I couldn't smell anything which would have indicated the presence of some wayward animal forraging in the thick forest bordering the backyard.

I of course knew it's almost impossible to get the attention of a dog whose attention is focused on something important like a rabbit or deer or fox.  I tried to get them to quiet down but eventually gave up.  "Fine" I thought.  "Let the cops come and take me away.  At least it will be quieter in a jail cell."

As all this mayhem was happening, I was struck by a thought which gave me pause.  If Jersey was here, she'd be the ringleader of all this noise.  She'd be the one who would have squeeled in anticipation of seeing what was in the yard.  She would have been the one barking loudest.  It was then I realized I don't remember the sound of her bark.

I recall when she was first getting sick, something happened which caused her to unleash her roar over and over and over and over again.  I took joy in the sound of her cries.  I knew she was feeling the moment and was truly being a dog.  I swore to myself that I would remember the moment and remember the timber, the volume, the deepness of her voice.

Now, four months later, I struggled to recall what she sounded like.  I'm sure if I heard it, I would instantly recognize it.  But absent that, I can't hear it anymore.  I think I have forgotten.

It was the one thing I had hoped I would always have with me.  I was sure it was one of the memories I would always have and be able to cherish.  I was certain that memory would help keep her alive. Now all I hear is her silence.

It's a little unsettling to recognize I won't hear her again.  I'm discomforted to have a picture of her in mind but can't put a sound to it.  It's like watching a silent movie after being able to hear in hi-fi, stereophonic, glorious sound.

Now, the house is quiet.  Skylar and Tellie will continue to bark and keep providing the soundtrack of my life.  Unfortunately, the recording has changed.  Jersey's voice is missing.