I do not get worked up by the weather, unlike my sister. I hate the snow and the cold, but it doesn’t give me the trembles. I just dig my paws in and refuse to go outside. So, while everyone got worked up about the latest bomb cyclone that brought five inches of rain and hurricane force winds, I remained my usual unflappable self.
In the morning, per usual, Pocket went out first. She came back inside soaking wet with all her hair windblown to one side of her body. Daddy picked me up and brought me out on the porch. He leashed me and carried me into the crazy sideways rain and howling wind. I quickly peed. There was no attempt to make me poop. If Pocket poops inside, she hides it behind the furniture, but I always leave it right in the center of the pad for a quick and easy pickup.
Daddy went to work, and we stayed inside protecting Mommy. We barely barked. There was nothing that caught our attention except when the empty trash barrel tried to escape by rolling down the driveway. When Daddy got home, he walked into the 50 mph wind to get the barrel back to its spot behind the stone wall. He put a rock on it to keep the wayward barrel in place. A gust of wind got under the lid and threw the rock back at Daddy. After Mother Nature’s assault, he retreated inside.
We stayed there. When it was time for Pocket to pee, she went on her porch pad. I refrained from peeing all day. The lights went out for a short time when Daddy got home, then, for a few seconds, while Mommy was making supper, which made her exclaim the two worse Non-Lutheran words causing the power to come back on, and finally, despite Mommy’s repeating those bad words, the lights went out again for several hours at 8:30.
We sat in the house, lit by a single candle, as the wind shook our abode, sounding like a thousand weeping angels moaning a sad song. The fan over the stove banged relentlessly. The rain continued to lash the side of the house like a harsh hose set on high. Pocket switched from one nervous lap to the next. I laid next to Mommy as content as could be.
I had one worry, that my parents could not see the clock, and would not know when it was time to give me my 10:00 treat bone. I needn’t have worried. My treat bone is always punctual. But before I got it Pocket, Daddy and I ventured into the storm because I still had not peed and the resulting River’s river, once unleashed, would have flooded the house worse than the rain. Daddy carried us to the stone walkway where we both quickly did our business anxious to get inside
I attacked my bone, relying on my sense of taste and smell because my sight was diminished. Pocket got a small plate of food. Mommy grumbled that she did not get her evening cup of tea. When I finished my bone, with the temperature inside the house plummeting, we retreated to my favorite place, the bed.
My parents were still awake, reading by the flashlight on their phones when the power returned. Pocket stayed pressed against my parents finding comfort in their body heat. I barely moved from my spot at the end of the bed.
Mommy soon went to sleep. Daddy stayed up a bit longer I made my way to him and pawed his hand signaling for him to rub my belly. He did, and after several minutes stopped. I pawed him to keep him going, and had to do so several times. He asked me why I wanted the constant attention. Had anything that happened tonight upset me?
I scoffed at him. “Of course not,” I said with my eyes. But I kept pawing him, and he kept rubbing. Something about the act, on this night, was particularly soothing.