The Color of My Mother’s Voice
by
Terri Kouba
Copyright © 2011 Terri Kouba
All rights reserved.
Smashwords edition
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Lyrics and song are property and copyright of their respective authors, artists and labels.
The Color of My Mother’s Voice
When
I was a lad and Old Shep was a pup
O'er hills and meadows we'd
roam
Still the words echo inside my head. A simple song about a man and his dog. Yet so much more. A song of love, loyalty and the ultimate test. A song about doing the right thing, even though it tears you up inside, as the right thing frequently does.
Just
a boy and his dog, we both full of fun
We grew up together that
way
I would plead with my mother to sing "Old Shep". She'd say "no, you'll just cry at the end." She was right, I would, but that didn't mean I didn't want to hear it. Sometimes it made me want to hear it even more. I was raised to be strong and strong people didn't cry unless there was a good reason. Old Shep…Old Shep was a good reason.
I
remember the time at the old swimming hole
When I would have
drowned beyond a doubt
Shep was right there, to the rescue he
came
He jumped in and helped pull me out
She never sang it in the light of day or too late at night when darkness pressed my thoughts inward. It was an evening song. A song sung on the porch while vivid reds and vibrant oranges cut a deep swath across a purple sky. Mosquitoes burst out of blackberry bushes as if released from a prison of leaves. They'd swarm around me, buzzing noisily in my ears, adding background to my mother's husky voice.
So
the years rolled along, and at last he grew old
His eyesight was
fast growing dim
Then one day the doctor looked at me and said
"I
can't do no more for him, Jim."
Years later I'd come to know this time and its veiled colors as the "gloaming". But to the eyes and ears of a seven year old, purple twilight was the color of my mother's voice.
With
a hand that was trembling, I picked up my gun
I aimed it at Shep's
faithful head
Just couldn't do it, I wanted to run
And I wished
they'd shoot me instead
She'd begin softly, self-conscious of her lone voice in the still evening air.
I
went to his side, and sat on the ground
He laid his head on my
knee
I stroked the best pal that a man ever found
I cried so -
I could scarcely see
The words came alive in my young head. Images of youth and fun and duty flashed against the dark hills. I reached down to scratch the ear of Pokey, wondering if he was my Old Shep as his rough tongue licked salty tears from my tiny fingers.
Old
Sheppie he knew he was going to go
For he reached out and licked
at my hand
He looked up at me, just as much as to say
We're
parting, but you understand
My mother's voice fills me. The velvet evening envelops me. My blood becomes the gloaming and its purple courses through my small veins. Her voice resonates in my ears, in my heart, in my soul. I can see my mother's voice, floating behind a sky of fire. Her voice has a color. It is the color of twilight. The color of the gloaming.
Old
Shep is gone where the good doggies go
And no more with Old Shep
will I roam
The trees turn dark, stealthily becoming the black shadows they no longer cast. Bugs buzz in my ears. My mother sings.
But
if dogs have a heaven, there's one thing I know
Old Shep has a
wonderful home.
Tears stream down my small face. The sun has set. The yard is dark. Stars blink in the sky overhead. My mother has finished the song and I can see the color of her voice no more.
That simple song, about a man and his dog, taught me everything I needed to know about life: life is good, sometimes hard, and in the end you have to do what is right, no matter how much it hurts. It also showed me, if only for a fleeting moment, the color of my mother's voice.