River Song Speaks Up for the Dogs who Do Not Tremble

Every satellite orbiting this blue marble is crammed with stories about how Pocket doesn't like loud noises, fireworks or thunder.  She posts these stories in a desperate attempt to get attention. While reading her dramatic accounts, have you ever asked yourself how about the other dog? 

Please allow me to introduce myself. I am River Song, otherwise known as the other dog: The one who does not get upset when it thunders, or there are fireworks.  The one who doesn't get attention because she doesn't shiver or quake. What about me? I am glad you asked.  

One night last week, while we were in bed, it began to rain, hard.  I don't mind the sound of rain on the roof; I am in the big bed with my parents. What could go wrong? 

Pocket was curled up at mom's feet when my sister began the four stages of unnecessary shaking. First, she lifted her head up like someone was whispering a secret.  Second, she stood and looked around like she was searching for her glasses. Third, she walked up dad's body like she is a Flying Wallenda trying a new after-dark stunt.  Finally, she begins a full-body shake. 

This was all so tiring. If I wanted the shaking bed, I would have paid 50 cents more for the room.  Daddy woke up, listened to the rain, and determined there was no thunder. He picked up Pocket and walked around the house. They watched the storm through the kitchen window until it was apparent even to Pocket that there was no thunder. He brought Pocket back in the bedroom and placed her on the bed. 

I was curious where they had gone, so I moved to the end of the bed.  When Pocket was put back in the bed, she lay down on the warm spot I had vacated
. 
I was getting tired of this repetitious favoritism. It was time for River to get some attention. First, I tried to tremble, but, unfortunately, it was more like a full-body spastic twitch.  Then I whined. "River stop!" Daddy said, "you're not afraid of the rain." He was right. You can't fabricate. I decided to take this opportunity for a maximum snuggle. I faced the headboard flexed my right legs,  jumped in the air and slammed into him like a loaded wild pitch. The "roof" sound he made was very satisfactory. 

I was just about to fall asleep when I heard thunder. Pocket went through the steps of panic and scurried up Daddy's body towards his head. Daddy and I groaned. The lightning lit up our room. Pocket sat by Daddy's head and trembled. I have to give it to her; she's faking, not even a Fox news cub reporter trying to pleasure Roger Ailes could fake it in bed for that long. 

Daddy began rubbing Pocket's trembling body. But what about me? Why wasn't I being rubbed? I was the good one. I began to paw Daddy to rub me too. He didn't want to do it. I understood why. When you stroke mee ready to do it for 45 minutes to an hour. I'm not easy. Plus I sit up while I'm getting my belly rubbed. It looks like Daddy is trying to fix a bolt on my undercarriage. Soon, It became apparent that I was not getting touched. If he wasn't going to rub me, could still initiate contact.   I began to lick his face. 

So the three of us lay in bed- Pocket trembling, Daddy rubbing Pocket, and me licking Daddy. We called ourselves The Aristocrats  Mommy was way over on her side, pretending was going on. We stayed like that for close to an hour. I admit I did feel a little bit like Jeffrey Epstein at Sleepaway Camp, t I didn't care. I had been through too many storms calmly.  I would not take second place to a shivering scared Yorkie.

When the storm subsided, Daddy picked up Pocket and put her down by Mommy, rolled over, d told us to go to sleep. Thankfully there was no more thunder. But I had made my point. More dogs deserve attention than she who trembles (which is Pockets Indian name.)  

 I consider it a victory for stable genius dogs everywhere.