Fireworked – Dogs and Fireworks


I know, everyone looks forward to 4th of July weekend—well at least most humans in our town do.  It means summer, and barbeques.  While I can get into the barbeque part of things—that succulent meat juice spattering on the patio; that abandoned plate of potato salad—I really don’t have much use for the rest of it.  I mean, it’s hot! I wear a fur coat, and I get yelled at for digging a nice cool hole against the garage, to lie in.  And those fireworks…

People watch them and say, “Oooooh, Aaaaaahhh.”

I say, “Ow! What the ?@!”

It starts long before the holiday too. Every night for two weeks I am tricked into thinking that the sky is falling and we’re all going to die. I squeeze under the end table next to the couch. I excuse myself and hide behind the curtain in the closet. I even contemplate getting in the bathtub, but it doesn’t matter where I am, that thunder ghost hunts me down and his teeth pinch my skull.

To top it off, my person has been squeezing some crazy flower essence into my mouth because she thinks it will calm me down. I’ve asked her if they have one that is chicken or elk flavor, because this stuff makes me gag—but they don’t, so then my head hurts and I have a bellyache.  I wish she would just give me some Valium and call it good.

I try not to cry, but I can’t help it. It’s usually the worst just after we’ve all gone to bed, when I am supposed to be quiet. We’ve all just dozed off and “Boom! Crack!  Pop, Pop Pop!” My person stirs and pulls the window shut, to muzzle the noise, but I can still hear it, and it the room starts to get stuffy. I try to squeeze into a secure corner and block it out, but sometimes it’s just too much. I can’t help myself and a small high-pitched whine escapes my lips. My other person yells at me and I try to tell him that we are under fire and he needs to do something about it, but he just says that I am over-reacting.

Meanwhile, we all start panting as the room heats up. I begin to wonder if this is what that place “Hell” feels like, but then my person reaches out from the bed, and her fingers trace a path from the end of my nose up to the softest part of my head.

She says, “It’s okay, they’re done,” then she opens the window and the cool night air drifts in, on the voices of my coyote cousins, from somewhere on that Jumbo Mountain.

We won’t have any thunderstorms until August, right?


Like this blog post?  If yes, chances are you’ll want to read our first DogTown Missoula blog by Pam Voth.  And checkout what Makes Missoula such a pet-friendly town and Missoula’s pet-friendly resources.

Click here to see the Dogtown Missoula archive.


Danielle Lattuga lives happily in Missoula, Montana with two unemployed herding dogs and a lab who makes everyone smile. Whenever her work takes her away from home, she must explain that someone has to put food in the dish, before she shuts the door and ponders the benefits of purchasing a small flock of sheep and a kitty pool.