This past Fourth of July weekend was nerve-wracking for Cheyenne, our 82-pound boxer-shepherd mix.
She was already kinda edgy from the steady rumble of dune buggies and ATVs. But the nonstop barrage of bangs and booms that drifted up from the beach turned her into a bona fide basket case.
Jumbo firecrackers, screaming rattlers, bottle rockets…
Poor Cheyenne.
She anxiously paced the house all weekend, head lowered and tail down, shifting from one “hidey-hole” to another.
Deb and I tried to comfort her. We gave her doggie tranks (prescribed by her vet, by the way). We even wrapped her in a highfalutin’ angst-squashing “thunder shirt,” which cost us 40 bucks.
Nuttin’ really worked.
I wished I could’ve taught Cheyenne some of my personal worry-crushing tricks.
Alas…
Anyway, thank gawd that’s over…at least ’til the next big three-day holiday weekend, or New Year’s Eve.
“We experience moments absolutely free from worry. These brief respites are called panic.” — Cullen Hightower
