Dog in The Storm.

by John Grey.

Thunder rattles the house.
It sounds like danger though I know it’s not.
That knowledge doesn’t translate into canine however.
My dog is yelping in circles.

A knock on the door
spurs him into protective mode.
One growl says it all.
He will ward off my enemy.
He will save me for another round
of pats and hugs and full food dish.

But a storm is different.
He’s more than afraid.
His instinct tells him that,
whatever behemoth is behind that booming,
it’s more than his pooch powers can deal with.
He is just a useless barking lap dog.
There’s nothing he can do to save me.

But it’s summer so storms are frequent.
He learns nothing from the previous encounter.
With the first rumble, he’s already
this combination of delirious and self-reproving.
He sees no way clear to the creature he’s supposed to be.

Then the clouds burst.
The thunder’s done its work.
It’s time to pour.
He calms down.
For all the intensity
he can see the drops on the window.
Instincts tells him that,
however fierce the torrents,
rain is just an easy tongue-lick at its core.

He cannot understand that thunder is no different.
“Come here boy,” I cry out as the house shakes.
That’s a droplet right there.


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