While sitting in church this morning, I discovered something about human babies. Perhaps I would have discovered it many years ago if I had been able to hear. This morning I was wearing my genuine VA-issued hearing aids, or "ear plugs" as my darling granddaughter, Isabella, calls them.
As the congregation finished singing "God, Our Father, Hear Us Pray," and the first Priest knelt to bless the tokens, a baby began to whimper to my right rear, somewhere in the bowels of the chapel. Soon another, to my left front picked up the chant, this time a few decibels louder. Then another to my right front. Almost immediately, the chapel echoed with the whining, sobbing, and outright caterwauling of at least six little future tithe payers.
What I discovered this morning was that babies and dogs share at least one trait.
As I labored to keep my thoughts on worshipful things, it dawned on me: in some ways, this chapel was like a trailer park down by the train tracks. For no apparent reason a dog will bark. A yelp here followed by a short howl. Soon, a few blocks away, another cur will pick up the refrain and so on and so forth until 15 or 20 dogs are barking noisily for no other reason than to be sociable.
And so it was this morning. Not a single baby was in dire pain. None, I am sure, were starving. No life was being threatened. They were just being neighborly. And it made a horrible racket!
The Boys and Me
