i listen to the sounds from downstairs , so familiar and constant it 's like they belong to the architecture , like they 've been built up out of the ground with the walls : the clanking of my father in the kitchen , shelving dishes ; the frantic scrabbling sound of our pug , pickle , trying to get out the back door , probably to pee and run around in circles ; a low murmur that means my mom 's watching the morning news .