Raising Your Voice

Despite the cold, Bow asks to go outside every day. He has a sweater and socks and clothes he could choose to wear, but he never does. He wants to go out as he is. And while he does not stay out for long, he does seem to accomplish a lot.

One of his favorite things to do is to express himself. First he looks around to see what he can see.

But then he does not wait very long to make his own contribution.

Bow's cries can be heard a long way away. Some people yodel. Bow just vocalizes. Then when he is done he can relax and enjoy the view.

And when Bow feels that he has accomplished all that can be accomplished, he takes that leap back inside, without ever touching the ground.

Does Bow go outside primarily to express himself? Is it because he can use his outdoor voice and it can carry well beyond the borders of our property? Is he sending a message to someone out there, or merely enjoying the sound of his own voice?

Many years ago, someone asked me whether I write in order to express myself or to communicate with others. At the time, I thought it an odd question. What would be the point of expressing myself, if I did not hope others would read and understand? What would be the point of communicating with others, if you were not allowed to express yourself in that communication?

But one of the things I have realized in the past thirteen years is that while communication and self-expression are related and often intertwined, they actually are separable. I am inclined to think that self-expression predates communication. I believe that reciprocity is overrated. Some messages go only one way. Sometimes you broadcast, but never receive. Like a baby's cry, which indicates a want, our most important ways of expressing ourselves go out, whether there is an appropriate audience or not. If the baby is lucky, his call will be heeded by a person who understands the want being expressed. Then self-expression will blossom into communication. But even so, every communication starts out as one-sided. In order to receive the self-expression of someone else, we have to stop speaking long enough to hear the other.

Bow always comes in from his outdoors sessions with a self-satisfied expression. He has said what he had to say. And whether or not his message was received, he feels much better.

More Swinging

Even though the weather has turned cold, Bow and I have been going outside more lately, because Bow has been asking to go outside specifically, repeatedly and adamantly. I end up pacing a lot, because it's too cold to sit down and stay still. But Bow seems especially energized. He plays chase. He tries to incite the dogs. And he swings. He especially likes to play tag and use the swing as the protected zone, where he is out of reach and untouchable.

I managed to capture better shots of him on his swing this morning than the ones I posted last time.

Once Bow has had his fill of swinging and running around, he retires to the human chair, not his metal bench. I think he believes the bench is more for exercising.

Indoors and Out

Yesterday, I discovered that my laptop can maintain its connection with the internet, even when I take it outside, into the outer pen. Bow wanted to go out and he even took the trouble to tell me so. Of course, he used his oblique way of talking first. He took my hand and spelled: "Everybody likes to go outside." I gave him my annoyed look. I didn't particularly want to go outside. "Never mind everybody. What do you want, Bow?" He spelled: "To go outside." I gave in. "Oh, okay. Just let me get my shoes and a towel."

I go barefoot in the house, but the outer pen floor is not so clean, it being, after all, the out of doors part of the pens. So I got my flip flops. And I took a towel to put on the metal glider we have out there, because Bow has been working on taking apart the glider for some time, and there is a spot where part of the metal grill juts out. I've torn several pairs of pants sitting there. But if I cover it with a towel, my pants remain intact. At the last moment, impulsively, I decided to take my laptop, too.

I thought that if I got disconnected from the internet I could still work on some document files. But I kept my connection and I was able to access Hubpages and Facebook and my blog and anything else I wanted. So Bow and I sat side by side on the glider on that towel, and the rooster crowed and the dogs did their thing, and birds flitted overhead, and I checked my email. It's the miracle of modern life.

Of course, when Bow had to use the potty, we went in. Bow doesn't like to  use the outer potty, because it isn't as clean as the one indoors. Bow appreciates cleanliness. He's just not that anxious to help maintain it.