I've sitting on my couch, wiped out from teaching, Zumba-ing, and power yoga, trying to write. Some days it's easier than others; some days it's instinctual. Tonight, not so much. Elvis, on the other hand, is paying close to his instincts as a Southern boy. Just three minutes ago, a gunshot went off somewhere in the neighborhood, which caused him to shoot out the French doors in full hound dog bay. I live downtown, so there are often loud noises; but those noises don't always agitate Elvis. There must be something in his DNA, something left dormant from his ancestors who were allowed to hunt, that allows him to recognize the sound of a shotgun.
A few weeks ago, he had a similar reaction to the late-night cry of a coyote (yes, there seem to be some urban-dwelling coyotes in the area). Dogs bark all of the time, and Elvis rarely responds (unless they are walking past the house). Again, his down home country memory bank must know what a coyote sounds like. Instincts are amazing!
Are you wondering why I didn't sound more alarmed at the sound of a gun going off down the block? I've lived downtown for 12 years now....maybe my instincts are better than I thought!
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