Lomax isn’t very noisy. I don’t think I’ve heard him whine once, save for the occasional low-volume, split-second “hmEE!” sound he makes when he’s elated to see me and itching to play.
But even his breathing makes me happy. When he comes out of the kennel in the morning, the first thing he does is stretch. Then he picks up the nearest chew toy and circles me for as long as I’ll stand in one place. With his ears back and butt wiggling so hard and fast you’d think it would impair his forward motion, he circles and circles, breathing out this amazing sort of half-snort:
“Ffffff. Ffff-ffff. Fffff-ffff. FFF!”
He should have been born into the “F” litter. Maybe he has a secret dog name that he’s trying to communicate to me. Maybe it’s Frank, or Fabio. Or maybe it’s just “Fff.” I suspect, in fact, that they all have secret dog names.
Dog One: “Greetings, General Fff!”
Dog Two: “Captain RrrRrr. How are the troops looking today?”
Dog One: “Excellent, sir. Though I am a bit concerned about Corporal HmEEEEE-HweeeEEEE-HmEEEEEEeee — he seems upset about something.”