My dog and I have found our voices. The vet found my dog's, I have to assume, for since she was spayed last week she has been almost chatty. As far as I can tell, her whines and husky howls aren't communicating pain but are certainly making clear to me the pain of communication. As James Herriot's book title has it, If only they could talk. This, after three months of almost silence since we brought her home from the shelter. And my voice? Not something that I'd realized was missing, but an observation by my Humber School for Writers tutor. She didn't exactly say I'd found my voice but that a switch had been flicked. It's nice to know my lights are on now. Low energy perhaps, but much longer lasting.