Speak Your Mind

Tomorrow is July 4th.  No mystery to anyone.  I’m a live and let live guy.  I don’t bother anyone, and, in turn, don’t expect to be bothered.  I volunteer when things are needed in the neighborhood.

Fireworks are legal in my area.  There will be sounds of fireworks for at least the next five nights.  Why does that matter?  I’m a pet owner, and my dog will be terrified by noise for the duration.

It’s so bad in this neighborhood, I’ve left the area during the holiday.  There was noise there, too.  Just not as bad.  Spent firework casings found in the yard upon my return, made me think ill of my neighbors.

The thought of something landing on my roof, and my house catching fire is quite unnerving.  Discharge of firearms is the worst danger.  There will be lives lost, injuries, due to celebrations gone wrong.  Everyone, celebrate and please be safe!


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.

Monitor Dogs & July Fourth

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.