July 1, 2019

White Dog has grown less tolerant of the noise of fireworks as she has aged and several members of the White Dog Army, like Bailey, Opal, and Roman, are outright terrified. I held WD in my arms and whispered our mantra of nearly a week already..."You are safe. It is only noise. We will stay inside and nothing will harm you."

It is still DAYS until the holiday "festivities" and I am running out of ways to reassure those who do not understand the point or purpose of firecrackers, quarter sticks of dynamite, and other explosives that are illegal here in the city but still manage every year to be sold in parking lots and set off in neighborhood streets.

And it is not just the White Dog Army who are traumatized. The Army has a friend who lives in the apartment building behind us, a vet with severe PTSD, who hides wrapped in a blanket in his closet and shakes. There is a woman at the end of our block who is her mother's caregiver. The elderly woman has dementia and the noises put her in such a panic that she must be sedated. Listening to The Planets or watching movies at the volume of pain only goes so far...and it is impossible to plan night walks around the boom cycles, which are random.

I can sense the strain of my Army and fear there is going to be a setback for Roman. "Please," I ask the Universe as I still hold White Dog in my arms, "let my babies know peace."