"What do you hear?" She whispered.
"Other dogs. You can hear them if you just pay attention."
She sat up straight and waited. Sure enough, on the next flush of chilly air she could hear a faint barking and then over to her left another series of barks.
"Oh. They're talking to one another?"
"Of course. Did you think we dogs just randomly bark up and down the valley for no reason?"
"Well it never occurred to me that dogs, living so far apart, were actually conversing! That's wonderful! What are they saying?"
Finn huffed and turned to face her. Humans were so silly. She could understand him perfectly and yet it never crossed her mind that she could easily understand other dogs. Why? Because she loved only him? Did love make all humans so deaf? They only really heard the words of those they cared about most?
"One of them is saying he just had a great fence run. He scared the mail carrier. The other one congratulated him and is now talking about the new bone her owner gave her on Thanksgiving."
"Oh. That's it?"
Finn grinned as only a Corgi can. "You were expecting philosophy perhaps?"
She nudged him and they both laughed. But secretly, yes, she had hoped for some tiny bit of unexpected wisdom. She scratched him between his ears. He leaned into it and made a little gurgling noise of contentment. Hmm.That little bit of contact between skin and fur, that bit of canine warmth and human touch, made her realize that it wasn't always the content of the conversation that was important. Maybe it was the need to keep connections alive. Knowing that someone, next door or down the road, wants to acknowledge your presence in this big world, was comforting. Perhaps talking about the mundane bits of daily life could be just as important as those one-on-one conversations that delve far deeper.
Maybe listening with big ears wasn't always about what the other dog was saying. Maybe it was about letting the other dog know that she is being heard.
