That Voice (you know you use it)

My first best friend was a Boston Terrier named Camilla. She was a couple of years older than me, and the closest thing I ever had to a patient, loving big sister. I dressed her up in aprons and headscarves, and later on, my brothers played soccer with her. She loved going on boat rides with my dad, and had a healthy respect for my mom.

I remember the voice my dad used to use with her: that loopy, excited voice where your pitch goes up and your IQ goes down, automatically. I used to think it was silly, but Camilla's little stub of a tail would wag a mile a minute.

I always considered myself a cat person. After Camilla, we had cats, my kids had cats, and they were personalities and family members. And yes, I gave them silly nicknames and crooned to them in That Voice. It's automatic - you can't help it! It's like childless couples listing all the things they'll never do with, to, or for, their kids, and as soon as the kids come on the scene, the list is out the window (yes, David, I mean you!).

Then came a time without cats. Within a couple of years, both our female and our male cat got out and never came home. Considering my husband and younger son both had cat allergies, we said "que sera sera" and began living pet free. Well, unless you count the hamster.

And now, there's Callie. Callie came into the family in January 2007, after my husband started mentioning that he thought our daughter needed a dog. I resisted as long as I could, aware of who would be saddled with the ultimate care and responsibility for the dog (hint: not the kids).
But it just so happened that a soccer mom on the team I was coaching had a litter of Lhasa Apso puppies that she was giving away. And it just so happened that I had to drop off some soccer paperwork at her house. A week later, we brought home a little white, tan, and chocolate furball and named her Callie.

Now, I'm doing all the things I swore I'd never do with, to, and for, my dog. Callie sleeps at the foot of our bed (or on my husband's pillow, if he's working late). She begs at the table and jumps on people. And if she accidentally gets unleashed, there's only one thing to do: use That Voice. You know the one. The loopy, excited one. The one where your pitch goes up and your IQ goes down. Come on, say it with me: "Treeeeeat? Callie want a treeeeat?"

P.S. Guess how I got Callie to pose with me on my newly spruced up front porch, above? (hint: it starts with "t" and ends with "reeeat"...)