Dogs, Thunder, and a Symphony of Chaos

Crash, roar, boom.

My eyes flash open, and my body bolts into a sitting position. The dark room awakens with fear and anticipation. Thunder beats like the steady drum of an orchestra outside, a bellowing declaration like an angry gladiator ready for battle. The clapping of rain serves as the audience for this impending showdown.

The scent of fear blankets the room, much like stepping into a haunted house, and my body tenses, awaiting the next crash. Out of the darkness emerges a high-pitched whine, harmonizing with the thunder’s drumbeat. I look into the shadows next to my bed.

Crash, roar, boom.

Another sound, from the opposite side of the room, joins in, like waves crashing on distant shores. My own heart races, determined to outdo the dog’s whine. Fear permeates the dark bedroom, an elusive presence not yet revealing its form.

I leap out of bed, and my senses sharpen, the cold metal of the crate jolting my nerves. I release my sweet companion from his crate. A ball of curly fur bolts out, nearly knocking me over. Duke lands on the bed, like a horse leaping gracefully over a fence in a riding competition.

I glance over at my other dog, Sadie, sleeping peacefully in her crate. The rewards of aging have granted her the bliss of not hearing these thunderous crashes.

My husband tends to the other soft whining sound, which grows more fervent as the thunderstorm rages on. Her whines change into a sharp bark, echoing like a gunshot in the night. Despite being a small and delicate dog, Lady emerges from her crate. However, the thunder’s anger continues to grip her, making each step a treacherous journey through a minefield.

My husband scoops her up and places her safely on the bed. “It’s okay, Lady, you are safe now. Don’t shake.”

We hear another noise, one of peaceful bliss — doggie snores coming from another crate next to Lady’s. Our little Tiger’s sounds are a stark contrast to the violent sounds outside our home. She is another aged dog, happily unaware of the ordeal her two younger canine siblings are enduring.

Boom, a flash of light pierces through the curtains, the thunder intensifying its fury.

“There, there, Duke and Lady, you are safe now,” we both say in unison to reassure our beloved dogs.

Boom, flash, crash… We catch a glimpse of four small eyes reflecting fear and bewilderment. Duke, with his large labradoodle body, leans against my leg. I place my hand on his curly fur, allowing him to feel the comfort and warmth. He emits a deep moan of contentment, his previously trembling body relaxing, melding into my side like warm wax.

Lady, our small Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, remains uncertain of the safe haven we offer. She curls up between our pillows, resembling a kitten snuggling a ball of yarn. It’s as if she’s testing if this arrangement offers more comfort and protection.

A stillness falls over the night’s song, an intermission at a Broadway play.

“Oh, please, Lady, get comfortable before the next explosive thunderclap,” I say, extending my trembling hand to pet her soft, silky fur. We find comfort in each other’s presence, soothing our frayed nerves.

Despite her 22 pounds and long, slender body, she curls into the tiniest ball among the pillows. Her body still shivers, the remnants of fear clinging to her like a gentle breeze. But gradually, she eases into relaxation, staying nestled close to us.

“Alright, Thunder, give it your best shot. Our precious fur babies are secure.”

Duke and Lady our two younger dogs in the house of 4. They are both 7 years old with Duke 3 months older.

This was previously published on Medium.