This morning, around 2:30, the sky was torn asunder by thunder. Nothing thrills me more than a silly rhyme. It was the kind of storm in which you think the sky is being shredded by an angry centipede, his angry 100-arms working in tandem to cast aside ozone and rip apart the space between stars. Well, at least I think. Most people probably don't like to ponder over-sized, multi-armed insects disemboweling the universe.
Growing up in the Bay Area, we didn't get these kinds of thunderstorms. Or they happened rarely.
But the Sierra Foothills likes lightning and thunder as much as it likes pine trees and snow-capped mountain tops. That is to say, a lot.
I thought the thunder was an earthquake, a natural phenomenon with which I am more intimately familiar. The house shook and Celeste shot up, staring intently at the door. I am not sure why the door. After a few more bouts of thunder, she gave up staring and went back to bed.
Mina didn't stir. Flashes of electricity, booms of sound, that is not more important than sleeping beneath the covers.
What do your dogs do during thunderstorms?