Our Shih-Tzu, Roobie, hates thunderstorms.
Our other dog, Barney, used to hate them until he went stone-cold deaf.
Now, he sleeps through the day regardless of the weather.
Roobie is paralyzed by thunderstorms.
She must huddle in our bathroom, quaking with fear, until sun breaks through the clouds again.
The forecast is calling for three straight days of rain.
Roobie's in for a long haul.
And, I'm afraid, her thunderstorm marathon got off to a shaky start.
It's my fault, entirely.
I'm used to the bathroom door being shut.
I'd forgotten I left it open a bit for Roobie to lurk inside.
The sight of the shut door didn't cause me any alarm.
Until I heard a little squib's voice echoing off the bathroom walls.
Never, never, never leave a squib behind a shut door.
I know the rule, Roobie.
And I'm very sorry.
I've stopped wondering what exactly motivates Pudge's actions.
I can give you no explanation, Roobie.
I like to think Pudge's attempts at mummification were well-intentioned. A means of squib comfort.
I know. We both know better.
Never have a pair of brown puppy dog eyes so clearly said,
"For the love of God. Discipline this child."
We're workin' on it, Roobie.
We're workin' on it.