Thunder

It rained all day, most welcome. It only rained a half inch all of May. There was no thunder, just a soft quiet shower all day. Bernie wasn't afraid of thunder. Occasionally, if there was a really loud sudden bang, she'd jump up into bed with me. Otherwise, though, she'd have no comment. It's funny, though, Bernie grew up with no thunder--not much in either Lake Tahoe or Sacramento. In fact, it hardly rains in either place, save for December or January in Sacramento, where it can be like living in the middle of the Pacific. You see, it all depends on the jet stream, whether or not the venerable "Pineapple Express" streams . . . kidding, I'm not going there. Anyway, you'd think the introduction to thunder might have freaked her out, but that wasn't the case. Poochie sometimes would crawl under the bed when it thundered, but she didn't pay much mind to it either. Some dogs freak out, like really freak out, and this is most unfortunate.

I do remember one day, here in Minnesota, when I was at work or wherever and Bernie was in her typical place during my absence, the backyard. Bernie has a doghouse, I made it when we moved here, but she never used it. It just sat there. When it snowed, she'd lay in the snow, turning into my little white dog. When it rained, she'd lay in the rain, only moving to the top step, which provided some shelter, once the rain pentetrated her undercoat. That took a while, and if it was warm enough, even then she'd stay laying in the rain. Invariably, though, the doghouse remained vacant.

So that one day I was gone, she was outside, and it stormed furiously. Tons of lightning, windy, pouring rain. It went on for a while. Wherever I was, I couldn't leave, and I was a bit worried about my lil buddy. Finally, I was able to get home, storm still raging. Bernie wasn't in the backyard, I saw when I pulled in the driveway. Like I said, she hadn't much experience with that type of storm, so I feared she'd pulled one of her great escapes. So I went into the yard, calling her name. No Bernie. Finally, I walked over to her doghouse and right when I poked my head into it she poked hers out, her wet nose meeting mine. Bernie!!!! My big, soft, furry dog was a big, wet, black rat looking thing, but she was no worse for the wear. Kisses were exchanged.