Speak!

(Taken from Mama Pajama Tells A Story)

Speak!

Giacomino was my “quiet one”. (Please note accurate, intentional use of past tense.) He is, and has always been the worried one of the bunch, as well. He will get more wrinkles in his forehead than a Shar-pei when things cause him concern.
When he was a little guy, he was SO serious. He was a rescue, and was starved and sick and infected everywhere. Even though he was so young, it took him forever to have fun. The rest of the dogs and I have therapeutic “howls” periodically, as needed. (My first dog of my own was a Siberian Husky who taught me well.) I love to see dogs throw their heads back and make perfect little O’s out of their lips and sing to their wolf-y ancestors. [Note: if, by some quirk of cruel fate, you’ve never tried this, please do. Howling like a wolf, with total abandon, is better than an entire year of psychotherapy, or two quarts of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. It is, however, best practiced in the hearing of only lifelong friends, or people who are so intricately bound to you that extricating themselves from the relationship would be both emotionally and financially costly.]
But I digress... During these howls, Giacomino would run from me to dog to dog, looking all worried and more wrinkled than a California Raisin. But he would not sing along - with Mitch, or anyone else. Now I was on a mission: Giacomino would speak.

Fast-forward past six months of training “speak”. One day he could resist no longer, and as the filet mignon dangled in my hand, and I commanded “Sssssss”, he said “arf”. Yay! GOOOOD DOG! Filet mignon all around! Then he said, “Arf”. Then “AARF”. Then “AAARRRFFF, AAARRRRFFFF! “ Then YEEEOOOOWWWWAAAARRRRAAAARRRFFFFEEEEOOOWW rah, rah, whrrrrrrrrr ah-wooo!
He has not shut up in the last twelve years.
So you may want to think twice about enjoying your mute dog. Train him to fetch, sit, come, play dead, anything, but speak.