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Destinations, Dreams and Dogs - International adventure with a fast-track family (& dogs) of Old World values, adopting the Russian-Italian-American good life on the go…!

Thunder Dogs

Storm_cloudsThe clouds rolled in, threatening and ominous. I was surprised as the family rushed to our evening meeting that it hadn’t started pouring, yet. But it was about to start.

Thankfully, we arrived early and missed the downpour and deluge that came immediately afterward. However, many of our friends were stuck in it and squeaked in late and soaked, even with umbrellas. That’s when the lightning and thunder started on a scale of 1 to 10 probably measuring a 15.

And I thought of our little Scotties at home and prayed. Misha does not like the thunder. At all. Lightning, Stormeither. He starts trembling and shaking uncontrollably. We really should probably try one of those thundershirts, a tight, compression shirt that experts say might help.

I don’t know. We try to hold him tight and he almost goes out of his mind.

If we let him go, he runs around in desperation and looks for a place to hide. And then comes back to cry and stare at me. But if I try to pick him up… he wants down again.

travelkennelDuring the meeting, I thought of him, hoping he would be okay in his crate. Whenever we left the house, Misha and Grisha stayed in their individual crates, large enough to lay down comfortably, but small enough to be their own little den. It calmed them to be there.

Arriving home after said meeting, I went to greet them and let them out.

“Hey, boys, we’re home!”

As I went to open the wire door to Misha’s crate, I found it open, his blankie in a wild heap inside. Grisha was fine and I let him out, while the kids told me that Misha was spotted making his way back from upstairs-!

Where he’s never allowed. But he knows that’s where I would be. If I were home.

That means that, during a wild storm, he had to break out of his crate somehow (?), run around with scottishthunder and lightning near the house, jump over a gate we have at the foot of the stairs, run upstairs, nose open my bedroom door… and do what? While I let them out to do their business outside, I asked the kids to check that he hadn’t done any serious damage upstairs.

“Nope, nothing,” they glanced around.

Sure. What did they think he was doing, the Princess and the Pea routine?

scottieI knew that my little guy was probably beside himself in the storm and had come to Mama for comfort.

And I wasn’t there. I felt like a shmuck.

Sure enough, when I checked around, I found my bathroom rugs thrashed around in anger or distress. I felt like a double-shmuck. He had needed me.

So now that we were home, once he came inside, I held my little Scottie Misha and smoothed his long black coat, damp from his post-storm romp in the wet grass. We sat and cuddled, me reassuring him that, in the future, I would always be there for him. He laid his head on my lap and collapsed in a deep sleep, at last surrounded by the safety of my arms.

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