The. Voice.

I am pulling into my driveway. Down the street I see a tall, dark, handsome man walking a teeny little black and white dog.

This sight pleases me. I like the confidence exuded by a strong, tall, handsome man who owns a teeny tiny dog.

Note: Yes, it is the Hub. Please put your eyebrows back down.

You see, real men don't need big dogs or big noisy trucks with big expensive tires and big old holes where his brains should be. Real men just need to have big paychecks.

Note: I digress. What was I talking about?

Oh, yes. So, I walk to the sidewalk and call Hey Rube!

Rubi stops and looks around. She cannot see me, but she can hear my voice. She looks back at the Hub, who is encouraging the teeny dog. Go see your Mom.

He lets go of the leash and I call her again. She races toward my voice, the voice of her Master, yes, with her ears flying back and her eyes wide. She finally reaches me and licks and bounces and butt-ups as an expression of her great joy. Of seeing me.

Note: There is likely a deep message in this beautiful story about listening and responding to the Master's Voice and the whatnot. And not waiting, but running to that Voice.

So, I will file the little gem away for future use, in the back of my mind where there is plenty of room, and then I consider the Hub. He's strolling. To the Voice.

So, Rubi runs to my Voice. Hub meanders to my Voice.

Note: I have some training to do.

Heck, yes!