The Quiet Dog

Misha is a very quiet dog. He has been with us since May and I have only heard him bark 3 times. Once he whined to join me on a chair. The rest of the time he has been silent.
But he communicates with me constantly. The way he gives a glance, shrugs a shoulder or averts his gaze speaks volumes. I watch him often to learn what kinds of things he is telling me. Perhaps he decided that because I don't speak "Bark" and he does not speak "English" we should rely on a common language- silence.
I think he has made a very wise choice. I speak silence pretty well. My household when I was growing up was very quiet. We spoke at dinner time and when there was something thoughtful to be said. Every evening after dinner the house was quiet. One could do homework or read or think...but no noise. No music, no phones and surely no television was allowed.
Silence has its own repetoire. There are angry silences and thoughtful silences. There are peaceful and loving silences. I grew up reading my family and their silences as one reads a book. My father's silences were because he was thinking, creating, re-working words and his projects. My mother's silences could be soft and encompass me with love. They could also shut me out, it was her silence and I was not to intrude on it. She deserved time to be in her head without any of us in there with her.
Misha's silences are many. He rests happily in silence, he broods silently, he walks and adventures in quiet. His tail tells of his enjoyment in the task at hand.
I love needing to look at him to read his mood. His eyes flash, or caress. His body can twist in delight or can flatten in fear. Our quiet is a language of its own we are using to talk with one another.