The dog has many voices.
It's not that she's particularly talented. It's not a euphemism for "The dog wears many hats". And she's not a performance artist or anything.
But she does talk. All the time.
She has, of course, her own voice. Only two minutes ago, she came with a grubby tennis ball clenched in her teeth and said enthusiastically to me: "Rooroorowrowarh." To which I replied: "Well, thank you. I think you look pretty today as well."
She also has the high-pitched voice of a Sweet Little Girl. It comes out when she loses her ball under the couch and looks up at Raphael with those big brown eyes, wagging her tail and whining very softly: "Dad? Dad? I lost my ball. Can you get it? Can you? Please please? I love you."
There's her Whiny Teenager voice, typically paired with a skeptical sideways stare and a marked absence of tail-wagging (which we've come to realize is the doggie equivalent of hands-on-jutted-out-hips): "What. Ever. That food is so six o'clock this morning and I am so not eating it. Give it to Dad or something. You're so not awesome."
She's got a loveable, Big Dumb Guy voice too. Ball. In Mouth. Ears plastered back against skull. Tail wagging. Tongue dangling out around ball. Eyes looking up under puffs of eyebrow fur. Paws poised for a mad dash: "Come on, guys, try to get my ball. I know you want my ball. Come on, guys. Come on. Look at it. It's my ball. Come on. I know you want my ball."
Oh, and of course there's her Rebel voice. No ball in sight (balls are mainstream). Ears forward. No tail-wagging (which might indicate acceptance of and possible agreement with the situation). Eyes staring straight on (in defiance). Legs braced firmly against the floor. Mouth closed. Comb tucked into sleeve. Cigarette dangling from teeth: "You callin' me a dog? Yeah? Well, I ain't no f***in' dog, mister. I'll tell you who's the f***in' dog around here, mister. You people make me sick."
Ah, yes, and finally, there's her Pirate voice. Eyepatch. Peg leg. Bandana. Teeth bared around giant curved sword. Tail raised and the Jolly Roger flying from the tip: "Yar! I be hungry! An' not for that filth ye call Dog Food. Avast, ye scurvy dogs! Cease and desist wi' the pourin' o' that kibble or it'll be down the plank wi' ye! Yer no better than cats, yer not. Now feed me People Food!"