Rain. What a wonderful thing to wake up to at 7:00 a.m., in addition to my lovely daughter's chatter of course. We haven't seen rain 'round these parts for a loooong time. The few short showers we've had this summer don't count. We needed a good old-fashioned, yard-drenching, thunder-booming storm and we finally got that today.
Delaney doesn't really acknowledge thunder yet, but Mathilde (our inside dog) sure does (as does Guinness, our outside dog, but hers is a story for another time). Mathilde senses the approach of a storm way before I can ever hear it or see it. Her beacon of distress begins when she tries to climb into bed with me and R. As much as we love her, we don't love all 75 pounds of her shedding huskiness in our queen-sized bed.
Try as I might, I can't seem explain to Mathilde that she doesn't have to be afraid. Dogs just aren't swayed by simple reasoning. I keep telling her to take the Flight Attendant Test. Whenever I'm on a plane, a place that scares me far beyond all reason, I continually take it: I watch the flight attendant. If she or he isn't rattled by turbulence or weird noises, then neither am I (Well, OK. A little honesty here. I try
to remain unrattled. It's not easy when you're a freak like me, but I get an A for effort.). If Mathilde would just look to us as her flight attendants, she'd note that we're calm, so she can be too. But, then again, I've failed the Flight Attendant Test more than once, and had to turn to remedial vodka in tiny bottles to get me through some flights. At least I had a backup. What was poor Mathilde to do?
I tried to think like a dog. If it wasn't vodka that would help her overcome her fear, what would? A-ha! New York Strip. Luckily, we just happened to have some leftover from our dining-in date on Friday. I gave her a few bites. It worked. She was chillin' in no time.