Shortly after I had Bowen, there was an AWFUL thunderstorm (about a day preceding a tornado, as luck would have it).
Byron was at work, so it was just me, a three-month-old baby and two of the world’s most paranoid, neurotic dogs: mini-pinscher, Samson and now-deceased Lhasa Apso, Tuffy.
This was a really horrific storm. The lights kept flickering, the lightning was coming and going so quickly it was like God playing with a strobe light, and the thunder was LOUD (thunderous, almost). The damn dogs would not shut up. They whined at me for hours, but they knew better than to jump up onto my lap when I was holding the baby.
FINALLY, I put that annoying little, laphogging baby in his bassinette to sleep. (Dog’s eye view, not mine, of course.) Just as I was settling back down into my comfy rocker-recliner, there was this HUGE clap of thunder. The furry little morons literally leapt from their corners. I wasn’t quite sitting yet. They both attacked me, mid-sit, knocking me into the recliner and raising it up off the floor about an inch or so. Who knew that a collective 15 pounds of frightened canine could take out a collective 200 pounds of human and Laz-E-Boy?
So, I situated myself, let them get situated on my lap and just kept petting and rocking them until they fell asleep. I guess ya just have to treat them like you’d treat your kids. With the minor exception of letting them eat at the table, that is.
Veni, Vidi, Visa … I came, I saw, I bought.