Fleeting Thunder

         The trees did their voodoo dance, conjuring up a thunderstorm to rain down on our little house. Old Man was on the lawn tractor, completely oblivious to the warning signs, ears plugged up with strains of Satchmo. The first drops of rain on his glasses sent him into action.

          He drove the lawn mower across the yard and into the shed, hopped off and ran to Poor Hound Dog who is being treated for heart worms. He wanted to get him into the house before he became too excited about the Devil bearing down. He glanced in Princess Super-girl's pen to make sure she was secure and safe. Leading Poor Hound Dog across the yard, Old Man remembered the windows were down in his truck. Remembering the windows down in his truck led him to look over at the neighbor’s vehicle to check their windows. They were down. Now it was a race to the finish.

           Poor Hound Dog had to be kept very calm, because any active behavior may break up a clump of heart worms in his veins that would migrate to his heart or brain and block veins there. He ran the risk of a heart attack or stroke. Old Man walked with quick deliberateness, but not too fast through the increasing deluge. After tucking Poor Hound Dog away safely in his crate in his house, Old Man ran to close the windows on his truck while trying to get the neighbors on the phone. When the neighbor didn’t answer, Old Man ran across the yard to close the windows himself and ran back to our house.

          Exhausted, Old Man stood in the kitchen gulping a glass of water, congratulating himself in getting everything in ship shape without getting too soaked.

          Then the Devil hit. The loud thunder knocked the glass from Old Man’s hand and he jumped back from the kitchen window. While trying to recover, checking his eardrums, Old Man saw a sight that even the Devil didn’t think would happen. The clap of thunder scared Princess Not-So-Super-girl to the point of hysteria. She tried to climb out of the six foot high fence of her pen. Old Man had put a top on the pen, though. She tried anyway. In maniacal bursts, Princess climbed the walls, then tried to shove her nose through the gate. When these were unsuccessful, she pulled on the fabric of the hurricane fence with her teeth. Before he could react, Princess bent the lower bar of her pen enough to give her space enough to squeeze through it and the ground. She was at the back door digging her way into the house before Old Man could react.

          When Old Man let her in the house, her mania was not abated. She raced straight through the house, picked a spot and tried to dig her way through the floor. When Old Man was able to reach her, she quickly jumped to the side and outmaneuvered him, landing on the couch to try to dig her way to the bottom of it, and presumably through the floor, down into the ground. I wonder if she thought she could reach China this way? And was the weather any better in China?

          The sight of Princess melted Old Man’s heart. Her face was scratched and bleeding, at least one of her paws had a ripped pad and was bleeding. Old Man couldn’t tell if there were more. He finally got her off the couch and into the crate that was just vacated by Poor Hound Dog. Old Man had a dilemma. Neither Poor Hound Dog nor Princess were house trained and there was only one crate, clearly not big enough for both dogs. It was apparent that Princess was in more need of the crate than Poor Hound Dog at this moment, but Old Man had to keep constant vigil.

          When I walked into the aftermath of this chaos, I saw blood on the floor, a tear in the old rug in the bedroom and couch had sprouted a new hole. Old Man sat exhausted on the couch with Poor Hound Dog at his feet, Princess in the crate and little Girlie-girl in his lap. The water poured from my shoulders onto an already wet floor. Old Man recounted the events of the last ½ hour as the two of us cleaned up the mess. I knew then, Princess was not going to able to stay with us. My heart was broken.