First, it’s the dogs that I hear: the deep rumbling growl and strong voiced bark from Darla accompanied by the shrill, explosive cry coming from Rosa Parks. Then I hear what they heard.
Usually, it’s the big orange road truck. It plows the road down to my driveway, then turns around right out in front. It arrives at unexpected times; it loiters around the mouth of the driveway. It grumbles through the snow-covered gravel, and beeps when it backs up. It is the mortal enemy of not only the two dogs I have now, but of every dog I have ever had out here on the Fox Lake Road.
Sometimes it’s the young man that brings his truck fitted with a snow plow over to clear my driveway. That truck isn’t loud, either, but the dogs always hear it, and they always protest. The audacity, to pull right in! To change the landscape that way! And, the nerve of him, he sometimes brings his own dog! Then, the ultimate case of adding insult to injury, he comes right to the back door, in order for me to give him a check. Though he does a fine job, and I’m happy with him, he is not appreciated by my four-legged companions!
Now and then, what they hear is simply a car going by, or a person walking up the driveway. Those things happen rarely enough that I have few training opportunities. It’s also the case, though, that their barking is rarely an issue for me, because it so seldom happens. Without the barking dogs letting me know that something is going on outside, with my lesser hearing, I might spend the whole day oblivious to it!