It’s been a terrible, terrible month. First there were the thunderstorms. The air was heavy. The sky was dark. I waited and waited on the floor of the bathroom. It’s best to seek safety while you can.
Then it started. The rumbles. The booms. The flashes of light. The rat-a-tat-tat as drops slammed against the windows. Terrifying.
But, the storms passed and, for a bit there, I thought things were looking up. On my walks around the neighborhood I saw the stars and stripes snapping from telephone poles. Little bitty flags planted in lawns. They smelled interesting. For some reason I was pulled away before I could explore thoroughly. Whatevs.
But these nice decorations, sort of spiffing things up a bit you know, were followed by noise! First there were horns, and drums, and bagpipes (!) lining up outside of the house. I barked and barked to scare them off, but they Just. Kept. Coming.
Finally the cacophony stopped. I thought the worst was behind me. Oh, was I ever wrong.
That very night, when I was still worn out from dealing with the bands, the explosions started. No warning. No heavy feeling in the air. No rain. Just, all of a sudden, the sky filled with unnatural hues—blues, greens, reds, whites. The stars burst. And the noise. Over and over again. Zzzzzwwwwp bang!
But what was even more horrifying, my family and others stayed OUTSIDE during these cosmic disruptions. They grilled. Grilled! I love the grill. The yummy smells. The samples. My mouth waters. It was exquisite torture. I could not leave the sanctuary of the bathroom. I was the only one who recognized the seriousness of the threat.
My family tried to be comforting. I know they meant well. But really, who could think about eating when the world’s exploding. They gave me a rawhide. Rawhides I’ll have you know are almost as delicious as samples from the grill. But I couldn’t look at it. My stomach turned over at the thought of food. The world as we knew it was ending and they were giving me treats. Sheesh.
Luckily, we seem to have escaped without harm. There are still explosions happening at night, but they are becoming less intense.
Me, I’m just hoping I can hang on until those lovely DOG Days of August. A month dedicated to me, the canine of the species.
[Note: Pettigrew is not a fan of fireworks on the 4th of July. He also wasn’t a fan of my draft of this week’s blog post where I recounted the places where he and his furry friends hide when the world outside turns loud and scary. The top safe spots we learned from his friends were the bathroom, the bathtub, and under the bed. In any case, he decided to ditch my draft and write the blog himself, again. I seem to be losing creative control.]