Storms. Rain. What else is there to talk about? Even my dogs have a lot to say about our weather lately.
I have two dogs. One little one – Penny. One big one – Reba. Penny lives inside. Reba lives outside, sorta. Penny and Reba have one thing in common. They are terrified of lightning storms.
I know why Penny is terrified. Several years ago, when I was not at home, lightning struck the house, and Penny got traumatized, big time. Who could blame her? I would have been traumatized too. And ever since, if the slightest bit of thunder can be heard, perhaps even as far away as Oklahoma City, Penny freaks. Her first avenue of retreat is my lap. If the thunder continues, she jumps off my lap (apparently I am not sufficient protection against thunder), and hides under the end table. If thunder continues, Penny just whines. And whines. And whines. It’s maddening. But if I’m up and moving about, as I was Thursday morning getting ready to proceed into the real world, Penny follows me, everywhere. She follows so close, she sometimes trips me up. Or I kick her across the room, unintentionally of course. It doesn’t matter. If I am upright and on my feet, and thunder sounds, Penny wants between my feet. The dog logic behind this is, and will most likely remain, a mystery.
Consequently, on Thursday morning as thunder rumbled, and I tried to leave house, Penny was close behind seeking solace between my feet. I tried to fend her off, and convince her to stay in the house, with the umbrella. This must have resembled me having a sword fight with my little bitty dog. If you can imagine tiny Penny darting and dodging at my feet while I tried to get door open, purse in one hand and umbrella in other, and at the same time waving umbrella at tiny dog and yelling “No,” you get the picture. It wasn’t pretty. I wasn’t really trying to skewer my dog. It was for her own good, to keep her safe in the house. It was a relief finally to get that door slammed in my poor dog’s face. I wish I could convince her she will be fine without my feet.
Reba is another matter. Reba is an old, old dog, who was rescued by Darling Daughter. Darling Daughter rescues everything. She’s forbidden to bring rescues to me, but for some reason Reba and I bonded, and nobody better mess with my Reba now. Not even the thunder. It became clear not long after Reba arrived that she too had thunder issues. We could tell by the way she tore the screen door off the porch trying to gain house entry during a thunder storm. Reba is the outside dog. She gets outdoor privileges. But outdoors is not where Reba wants to be when thunder sounds in the distance. She wants her family room privileges then.
Consequently, when I walked out to my pickup truck on Thursday morning, just after fending off Penny, I was accompanied the whole way by Reba, who remained right by my side. I opened truck door and prepared to enter, but now having to fend off Reba. She seemed to think she should get in truck and go with me. What? “No,” I told her. Then she gave me that great-big, brown-eyed, sad-dog look. Oh dear. I am such a sucker.
“That means you are scared of the thunder and want to go in the house, right?” I inquired. I swear she nodded. I climbed back out of truck and headed back to the house. The old, old Reba nearly beat me there. The elderly Reba does not run often. She ran this time, and beat me to the back door. She barely paused while I got the door to the family room open so that she could enter, and, somehow or other, be safe from the thunder. Reba and Penny should talk. Inside the house may not be as safe as Reba might think. Penny could tell her all about it.
Or, come to think of it, maybe I shouldn’t let them talk. I may not survive a thunder conspiracy between my two dogs. And two dogs between my feet is two too many.
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