Two more nights of this madness. Waited too long Saturday to give Max tranquilizers. So, he was a nervous, drooling, zombie dog mess.
Maggie wasn’t quite as bad. These two, weighing between 50-60 pounds each, wanted on my lap at the same time.
They were supposed to protect me. Instead, came to me for comfort.
Dad, there are explosions outside. It could be the apocalypse. We wanted to let you know. Where can we hide that’s dark and quiet?
And it came to pass; there was no respite; familiar became unfamiliar, with exploding pillars of sulfurous smoke and fire.
The zombie dogs wandered aimlessly through the back part of the house–which, to them, became an endless desert.
It seemed like, at least, forty years, till they found refuge in my lap, settled down to rest.