We had a rather nasty and long thunderstorm last night that left our large yellow lab a quivering pile of goo for the better part of four hours. Comforting her &cuddling her did no good, she was a hyperventlating mess. We actually thought she was going to defecate all over our bed because you could hear her passing air out “that” end. So we chucked her off the bed. ( Looking back on it, if she had, it would have been easier to clean up the bedsheets or replace them than the carpet. But at 2am, who thinks rationally?)
I don’t have a dog, but a friend of mine has a one with the same problem. She hates the fireworks too. Duke (yea, I know, a female named Duke, but that’s a whole ‘nother story) will usually hide behind the water heater in the basement. Duke also gets the "doggie downers’ prescribed by the vet.
All right, I’ll explain how the name came about. My friend picked “it” up from someone advertising “free puppies to good home,” took “it” to the vet for shots and all that other new doggy stuff. He wasn’t sure what sex the dog was, underdeveloped sex organs, and asked the vet. The vet told him it was a male. Well, “it” ain’t. Time to get a new vet, I think.
This dog has all sorts of strange habits, being scared of loud noises is the least of them. Duke loves to play fetch with rocks, big rocks. The dog is only about 30 pounds and when she’s outside, she always has a 2 to 3 pound rock in her mouth. She will go in the creek to dig them out; sometimes it takes an hour or two. She love to tear up the lawn too. Not with her feet though; she just pulls the grass out with her teeth.
I blame it on the misgendered name.
One complete set of morals for sale to highest bidder, new in box.
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.
Our dogs (two dachshunds) aren’t too upset by thunderstorms although fireworks bug them. My youngest son, however, who is now 13, is terrified of them. Fortunately we live in Seattle where thunderstorms are exceedingly rare.
The funny thing about my son’s fear (which includes windstorms as well) is that he really, really wants to fly kites. He owns about four of them but – if it’s windy enough for kite flying it’s windy enough to scare him so he won’t go outside. So his kite flying consists of running around in the backyard on calm days with the kite bouncing along behind him, and staying inside trying to stay calm during kite flying weather.
Fortunately he has other hobbies to occupy at least some of his time!
“Finally, consider Kottke’s voice which sounds like geese farts on a muggy day.”
Leo Kottke 6- And 12-String Guitar
