I’ll Take the Fifth (Of July)

For selfish reasons–I’m glad the Fourth of July is over. Last night, fireworks explosions carried on, till almost midnight.

Max scratched on the bedroom door, to get out, till it was over. There wasn’t anywhere else to go. Why couldn’t he rationalize the same as humans? “Max, settle down, go to sleep.” My spouse slept through all of it.

All five dogs were affected to some degree. Great-grand-dog Dexter, Greta, Bogart, my grand-dogs, and Max and Maggie, hung out in the basement till bedtime.

I don’t begrudge anyone’s Fourth of July festivities. From this pet owner’s perspective–I’m glad it’s over.

The Seige Is Lifted

Out of the bunker.  Last night hunkered down in the center part of the house.

It seemed to work well for the two pups.  Firework sounds were more muffled, and maybe all of us being together with the big TV, helped.

The Florida room isn’t as well insulated from sound and flashes of light.

Max seemed to do better without tranquilizers.

Anyway, I hope everyone had a happy, safe Fourth of July.  Lessons learned for next year.  It’s the day after–I’ve no more to say on the subject.

The Other Side Of Cool

Cool kids drove cool cars, were hip, said cool things.

For introverted, socially awkward kids, like myself, it never happened.

Instead, I listened to drive ya’ crazy, AM DJ’s; hung out with other oddballs, misfits that refused to conform.

From the other side of fascination with things that blew up.  It’s not funny or amusing anymore.

My dog, Max, after last night’s episode of fireworks, has the same look in his eyes as those poor dogs in the ASPCA commercials.

Tranquilizers, used for the first time, calmed him somewhat, but didn’t knock him out, to the point, that he slept through the noise.  Instead, he wandered with dilated pupils, never lying down, until after it was all over, sometime around eleven.

Today, he was hung over.  He was afraid to walk on the tile floor.  After eighteen hours, all is back to normal.  No more tranquilizers–just the thunder jacket.  Fireworks are legal here.  There is still the grand finale, tonight, to go through.

A Murder Most Foul #Humor #Pets

It caught absolutely no media attention.  Last night, sleep was tragically murdered.

Pure, innocent as a child, sleep snatched away in a series of tragic events.

It began with fireworks– thumps, bangs, and whistles till 9 PM.  Max, the older dog, is terrified of fireworks and gunshots.  He refused to go out and relieve himself before bedtime.  Ran, hid somewhere dark and quiet.  He’s been known to sleep in the shower.

At 3:45 AM, I awakened to Max’s scratches on the door to go out.  Thirty minutes later, Maggie came to my side of the bed, to be petted, and to remind me that Max was still outdoors.

Max was back in.  Apparently, I’d spent too much time petting Max; because there would be consequences later, when Maggie insisted on equal petting time.

Sometime, in the subsequent, early morning hours, the smoke alarms burst forth, with an impromptu, earsplitting, screeching chorus.  My first instinct, upon being awakened abruptly, was to go on a smoke detector smashing rampage–but came to my senses.

By that time, Max was, once again frightened.  The death circle completed.  There was no point in going back to bed.  Sleep had been bashed into oblivion.





It’s quiet now.  That will change after the sun goes down.

I’m scratching Max’s head and ears.  I thought he was hanging around because he liked me.  No, he smelled a forgotten treat in my pocket.

This July 4th we’re trying calming medication from a pet supply store.  Wish me luck.  I sure hope it works.

Max’s reaction to fireworks seems to get worse every year.  He wanders aimlessly, looking for a place to hide.  If he weren’t inside–I’m afraid he’d dig out of the yard.  I don’t begrudge revelers having their fun.  But, I dread July 4th and new Year’s Eve more and more every year.

Good–a spontaneous rainstorm.  Was I praying for a rainout?  I’ll never tell–it will only delay the inevitable.