I rolled over in bed in the middle of the night semi-conscious. As I stretched out on my back I was instantly startled to near total wakefulness by the dark pyramid that arose from the covers to my left. I leaned up on my elbow and squinted at the shadow more closely. On moonlight-assisted inspection I discovered that the isosceles form was contiguous with my supine snoozing husband. With a quick pat of my right palm I discerned that the peak of covers was created by the bent knees of my sleeping bed partner. I smiled with the midnight discovery of the missing link to our children’s own bent-knee sleeping position.
On awakening the next morning I sprung the news on my unsuspecting Frank, “Guess what I saw last night. No, no, you’ll never guess, so I’ll tell you. I woke up in the middle of the night and there you were sleeping on your back with your knees propped up. You know all these years we’ve seen the kids sleeping like that and couldn’t figure out where they got it from. They learned it from you! You’re so silly.” I added grinning.
“You’re sure?” He asked.
“Sure, I’m sure.” I reported. “I saw it last night. The children learned that funny knee thing just like they learned that barking behavior.”
“What barking behavior?” He asked.
“You know,” I said, “The way you bark at dogs.” I knew he understood what I was talking about. Ever since I have known him he’s barked at dogs. He can yip at little dogs, ruff- ruff at bigger dogs and howl at all the others.
“When did you hear the children bark?” He asked.
“Last weekend,” I replied, “When we went for that walk around the farm road and the edge of the woods. When we walked by John and Rachel’s house their dog Gretchen began to howl. You were in front and started to howl. I watched Emma follow you and start to howl and Cabell walking behind her was howling, too. I just walked along in the rear of the line and watched the three of you howling. It was pretty funny.”
“OK,” he said, “I do bark at dogs, but they always bark at me first.”
“Fine, ” I said recognizing that he seemed a little touchy, “I’m sure they bark first.”
“What’s wrong with barking at dogs anyway?” He asked.
“Oh, nothing,” I said with a smirk, “Only, I don’t bark at dogs.”
“No,” he sniffed, “You have chickens.”
“OK, so I’m a poultry owner,” I said, “But, I don’t cluck.”
I was surprised that Frank had been so serious about the barking issue. That Sunday night at supper with Frank’s parents I said, “You know it’s the funniest thing. I found out that the children have learned to bark at dogs just like Frank.” I smiled and snickered before I caught sight of all the puzzled faces around the table.
Our daughter Emma with her brow in a serious knit said, “Mom, the dogs always bark first.”
“Sure,” added our son. “We just bark back. What’s the problem?”
“Well,” I said somewhat uncertain now myself, “I don’t think most people go around making animal noises.”
“Sure they do,” replied Frank’s mother, “My brother, George, used to quack like a duck. He got kicked out of Sunday School for quacking.”
Our German au pair added, “My family all like to baa at the sheep.”
I looked around the dinner table at all the silent unamused faces and felt deficient. “I have chickens,” I said softly, “Does that count?”