“You can't have
peace any longer than your neighbor pleases.”
-- Dutch (on war and peace)
To my
legions of adoring fans – I am SO sorry to have not updated this blog over the
past few months. I know the five of you must have missed me tremendously! But do
dry your tears – I’m baaaaack!
The story
is sad but true - I’ve been suffering from writers block after experiencing the
devastation of PTSD (when I looked up PTSD on-line it took me to the Port
Townsend School District, but as I’ve since learned via co-opting Tanya’s
nursing school classes, in my case PTSD stands for Post-Traumatic Stress
Disorder). My therapist has suggested that sharing my story might not only
hasten my recovery, but also be a comfort to others in similar
circumstances. If I can help just one
other dog in need, my experience will not have been for naught…
In early
July of this year, I was exposed to the trauma of a war zone – 4th
of July fireworks! I can’t yet even discuss the screaming, flashes of light,
and sudden bursts of horrific noise that assaulted my delicate system and sent
me running to hide in the laundry room (nothing like a big nest of dirty
clothes to help muffle sound and sight). Not only was I emotionally battered,
but the rocket’s red glare and bombs bursting in air gave proof through the
night that my bladder was beyond repair.
I was
eventually forced to call for police protection when over-zealous neighbors
failed to adhere to the restrictions of City of Noblesville Ordinance #3-1-09. Come on folks, you can’t tell me that singeing
your fingers with a cheap bic lighter, scrambling like an idiot to get out of
the line of “fire”, and then watching a skimpy poof of sparks is really all that exciting? And then you do it over
and over and over for days and days and days. Really? You humans are entirely too easily entertained.
Thankfully, I have a strong constitution, a prescription
for Prozac, and gullible humans who will do anything to ease my suffering. So
perhaps I now slightly exaggerate my quivers and trembling at the sound of a
backfiring car or Todd’s nail gun. And I admit that I took advantage of last
night’s thunderstorm to once again nest in the laundry and elicit bribes of all
my favorite treats. So what, I’m not beyond playing for sympathy. But I’m also
suggesting to my humans that we get the hell out of Dodge next July. I hear
that the British don’t feel quite the same way about July 4th.
Cherrio!
