Do You Hear What I Hear?

The Squire is deaf as a post. Oh, he swears I whisper and turn my back when I speak to him, but he doesn’t hear anybody else, either. In truth, it is only high-pitched noises that he misses. Birds signing, the car brakes squealing, wind chimes clanging.

It’s the wind chimes that drive me nuts.  They hang from the patio eaves, on the back of the house. Our bedroom is upstairs on the front of the house, but we sleep with the windows open. I hear the blasted things racketing away in the high wind, and The Squire, literally, turns a deaf ear.

I must love him. I haven’t killed him yet.