The Crate of Solitude

It was late in the evening and the dog would have licked himself, but thanks to the vet and Bob Barker, that would have required a trip to the town dump to do so. “Spay and neuter my fuzzy butt,” he thought. But what was gone was gone, so he did the next best thing: He went to sleep on the human’s bed.

Next thing he knew he was awakened by a crash of thunder.

It was 4 a.m.

“SON OF MY MOM!” he barked as he fell off the bed and onto the floor.  He hated storms. No hated wasn’t the proper word. He LOATHED storms..  He paced around the room, shivering, before he went and checked on the human kids. They were his pack and he was the pack leader. There was so much to worry about when you were a dog.  Humans had no idea.

The lightning looked like a thousand paparazzi were out in the yard taking pictures. The continuous flashes lit the night sky. “How could the humans sleep through the end of the World ?” he thought as his heart rate began to race faster and faster.

A bolt of lightning hit an old oak nearby. The instantaneous crash of thunder shook the house and rattled the China.  He barked in panic!  ARRRGGGGGHHH!!!!.  (He could feel a little bit of pee come out!)  Then the rain started to fall.  Gentle at first but then more and more  a torrent that made a sinister hissing noise as it hit the roof. The gutters overflowed from the copious amount of rainfall.  Another close bolt of lighting caused the dog’s  panic to hit 11 out of 10.  He began to pant.  Fear had hooked its leash to his collar and was taking him for a walk.

The Weather Radio went off.  “GREAT,” the dog thought. “I’m going to DIE!”  It was Severe Thunderstorm Warning.  Apparently the radio picked up the obvious frequency.

Noise stirred from the master bedroom as one of the humans got out of bed.  Feet hit the ground with a thump and footsteps came toward him.

“Hey boy,” the half-awake human said, as he knelt down and started petting the frightened dog. “I don’t like storms, either.”  The dog had been fine with storms until Hurricane Katrina blew through in 2005.  After that Hell storm, no mas.  The big, sleepy man gently comforted the little brown dog.  “Let’s take you to your Crate of Solitude.”

The Crate of Solitude was a dog kennel with towels over it.  The dog felt safe in there and could not see the lightning (which was the worst part for him.)  The human picked him up and continued to stroke his head. “It will be OK. I promise.”  Another bolt of lightning and crash of thunder mocked his assurances.

The dog was put in the crate with a treat and a blanket.  He turned around three times, searching for the proper place to lie down.  It took a fourth, but he finally found it.

The dog sat in his Crate of Solitude, pondering the meaning of storms and worrying about his pack.  After much pondering and worrying, sleep finally came and stroked him behind the ears.