September 29, 2017

White Dog whimpered softly. We could hear her above the din in her "bedroom suite." Steve got up, carried her back, and placed her between us on the bed. She was shaking and terrified. So was everyone else.

We heard the storm moving closer in the very early hours (or late hours of last night; about 1am) but we did not expect that it would center its rage directly over our house. Nor did we expect that it would be loud, angry as hell, and violent in its thunder and plasma flashes. The house shook and the light pierced the blinds.

Only Nilla and Stormer were unaffected, thanks to hearing deficiencies, and were sleeping soundly. Everyone else was huddled together in farthest back of sleeping crates and glued around our bed where we could reach down and stroke them. White Dog tried to dig her way under me. Steve and I kept up a steady steam of soothing conversation and kept the television going (despite one big boom that caused a power losing surge for a moment). We reacted like a pack and pressed against one another for reassurance.

THEN the hail started bouncing against the windows. Not little "pings" of noise but the bounce like balls hitting the glass and roof; we could hear the hail outside on the yard wall and ricocheting on the deck. To the White Dog Army it seemed like we were under full attack.

For nearly an hour the battle continued. Slowly the pounding lessened and then the thunderclaps. The force of the water became more like normal rainfall. The lightning stopped. We could hear the storm beginning to move off.

No one moved fearing the end was a trick or just a momentary break. The room was charged with unrest and nervousness.

I took a moment to savor White Dog pressed against my side, as she slept for so many years before moving into her own space. I felt a moment of guilt taking such pleasure in having her on the bed.  I had ridden out the storm combing my fingers through her furs and with the other hand alternately cupping Bella's face and massaging Benson's flank.

We needed to make a transition that brought everyone back to normal and redirected fear to routine. I reached for the bedtime treats. "Let's try this again," I said to Steve and the WDA.

The sound of the rustling bag prompted the usual response of every pup coming to sit at the side of the bed. We redid our normal bedtime ritual of treats and tuck-ins and Sweet Dream kisses/wishes. The WDA shook off the storm reaction and settled into accustomed sleeping spots. One last listen...the thunder had moved off quite a ways...then one last "You are safe and loved, Sweet Dreams." And at nearly 2:30am lights were off and sleep filled the house.