When Tony and I first bought our house, I pictured us enjoying lemonade as we sat in the sun porch while the dogs romped in the front yard. A quiet life, right?
I was so wrong.
If Tony or I are anywhere near the kitchen, our dog Audrey thinks this means food. Never mind if one of us is just washing dishes or throwing something in the trash. There'd better be food, or else.
"Or else" means The Bark. Audrey has a powerful bark for a 25-pound girl, so powerful that it knocks her backwards.
Picture 10-foot ceilings and a wood floor. That bark carries very well. So well that people on the other side of town can probably hear it, too.
Tony likes to eat in his office, with the door closed. I can't imagine why he doesn't like to eat with a dog in his mouth. The dogs can't imagine why, either. They stand in front of the closed office door and bark.
Our typically quiet Picasso, a mere 13 pounds, is the lead barker at the office door. He has a bark that puts a jet engine to shame. Audrey is no barking slouch at the office door, either. But they can't get Tony to open the door until he finishes his food. I suspect he takes off his hearing aides.
I can't give the dogs all the credit for amplified noise in the house. Tony loves to watch the same movies over and over again, and gleefully shouts out the dialog. His current favorite is the Japanese version of Godzilla. I can't count the number of times I've heard him yell "Godjira!!" He is a retired band director whose voice could be heard over tubas, trombones, and trumpets, and now to the other side of town.
When Tony was getting his hearing tested the other day, he turned to me and told me I should get my hearing tested, too.
What's that, you say?