The Mind of a Dog

There is a storm approaching from the south. It's already raining along the Front as far east as the Missouri River--approximately 3 miles from my perch at the dining room window. Most of the mountain storms travel in an easterly direction nourishing the foothills and river valley then turn south sparing the parched prairie. Not today, however, we can expect severe thunderstorms throughout the day.

While the prairie receives a noisy drink, the dogs quiver with anxiety. They will quake with fear as the thunderheads crash. Luna, our 5-year-old springer spaniel, used to hide in the basement of our other house. Here she has no such luxury--this little farmhouse sits on a crawlspace--leaving Luna feeling frightened and exposed. Lately, I've found her crouched next to the toilet in the mudroom. This (usually) fearless dog who runs with thundering horses, mixes it up with the barn cat (and always ends up bleeding), chases skunks and antelope, and eats all things dead and decaying, cowers like a whipped pup at the first clap of thunder. It's mystifying how she discriminates that which is dangerous from that which is fun. Oh, to spend a day in the mind of a dog! Once again, all is well.