Rain, Rain, Go AWAY

the 1937 flood

And leave my poor sweet Very Old Dog alone.



Giacomino didn't start minding thunder and lightning until he was twelve or so. Never gave it a whisker's notice. Now, he breaks my heart. For nearly fourteen years he has been brave, silly, noble, adoring, and treasured. He feared nothing.



On a good day you can hear his heart with your bare ear, thunkin' away with its leaky valve. He doesn't have a murmur, he has a shout out. I asked about a chest xray to see how enlarged his sweet heart actually is at his last visit, and Doc said, "Well whatcha want to do that for? He feel all right? Is he eating and happy and doin' good? He looks fantastic! Whatcha want to do that for?" I love my vet.



It started thundering at 7:30 yesterday morning. I was at a Chamber of Commerce meeting. (Only to support a good friend would I go to a 7:30 AM meeting.) I heard that thunder and my heart squeezed for my Very Old Dog. Bill was right there with him in the kitchen, having his coffee and saying, "It's OK, Giacomino." We could hear the rain on the roof of the Convention Center, and boom, boom, boom.



It stormed all day. The thunder came and went. But the rain kept on coming at us like crazy wild contestants hurrying down the isles on the Price is Right. Giacomino is never more than three feet away from me, hasn't been in his whole life. Not in a neurotic, separation anxiety sort of way, but in an "it's all right, I'll keep you great good company" kind of way. Yesterday he stayed closer than normal, and when the thunder would wake him, he'd raise worried eyes to my face. And he'd stand - not an easy, take it for granted task these days. And he'd pant.



I rub the bells of his ears to lessen the sound of the thunder. Sometimes that is all it takes to make it better for him. But I couldn't mask the terrific crashes of yesterday's storm.



The lightning eased up around dinner time. This was a kindness, because we were invited to our neighbors' for supper. The food was savory and the conversation just delightful, and as we were saying our thank you, the sky exploded. Even Bill said, "We've got to get back to poor Giacomino." It was only a two block drive, and we hurried.



He was beside himself. I tried going to bed as if it were a normal night, and gods weren't blowing each other up right over our heads. By midnight I took him downstairs. It's not quite as bad for him downstairs. This old house has huge windows, so there was no hiding from the lightning. There was no distracting him from earth shaking blasts coming relentlessly. The sump pump harmonized with the wind. I lay on my back on the couch, with Giacomino lying on my chest. No part of him touched the couch. But his heart was beating so hard that the couch reverberated. The cushions shook.



I talked to him, I sang to him, I read to him. I stroked his forehead and rubbed his ears. The newspaper got delivered at 2:30 AM. At first I thought it was a drunk driver, weaving from side to side up the street. Then I heard the thunk of the paper hitting the porch. Giacomino went out and peed in the rain.



At 4:45 AM the wind died down and the rain simply fell out of the sky instead of shooting itself at us. And the thunder stopped. Oh finally that damned thunder stopped. I carried my exhausted old dog up to our bed, managing not to wake Bill. Swede William, who hadn't exercised that particular precaution, and had joined Very Old Dog and me shortly after we went downstairs, went back in his crate and flopped down. We slept until 8:30.





It rained all day today, too, but there was no thunder. I don't know how my brave dog's heart didn't disintegrate right along with his last nerve and mine last night. We had a blissfully quiet day, and he is sound asleep in our bed as I type this on my laptop.



Please, weather gods, leave this dear old dog alone.

Hug your brave hounds