A thundering & grumbling in the skies… I wish I can say that is what I woke up to. But it wasn’t. It was not the vibrating roar of the heavens that awoke me from a sound sleep. – NO! The shivering & panting & panic from several dogs woke me this grey & bleak morning. Two of those dogs – the rat terrier & the Chiweenie – were hiding beneath the covers, scared as a bag full of cats going into a hot tub. To the right of me, laying length-wise was the Chiweeinie – shaking & pouting, his bug eyes wide & afraid.

Beneath the covers was the Great Emporer, Tiker-Lee, our vicious rat terrier, the most important animal on the Compound. Just ask him. He believes he is the most important thing known to human acknowledgment. Just as important as peanut butter is to jelly, or eggs as essential to toast. And, when the sun drops down in the skies, Tiker-Lee is “placed” into the bed with me & my Wife.

That’s right – PLACED!

Tiker-Lee does not walk into our bedroom. Almost every night, Tara, with her ultimate love for this creature, will pick him up from the couch and CARRY him to the bed. If she doesn’t, the little turd will lay on the couch – perched, more or less – head up, eyes wide open, an expression of WHAT THE HELL on his face, waiting to be picked up & lovingly placed on his “portion” of the mattress, which, basically, is anywhere he deems fit for his comfort.

This morning was a little different.

Almost all of the dogs were in fear. A thunderstorm is brewing… &, when it comes to thunderstorms, all courage seems to trickle out of the dogs like piss running down the side of your leg.

No, no. It is not funny. And I worry. The Fourth of July is nearing and, good & traditional American that I am, I want to blow things up… shoot rockets off in the sky… celebrate in a loud & patriotic way. But, truth be told, I have a conscious. I worry about the dogs & what those loud explosions will do to the little – as well as big – four-legged pains in the asses.

For years, I would not fire a gun on my parent’s property. They have a little dog, Buddy is his name, a little Maltese-bum-spoiled shit. The loud noises scare him, too.

There is no need to scare anything… if you can help it.

I just wish I can control the weather. My beagle dog is close to having a panic attack.