Thunder Storm

Around 3 am, Murphy began crying and whining. Off in the distance, thunder was rumbling. Soon, Murph was in bed, lying on top of me, dripping fishy pond water shaking like a giant vibrator. Although Murph is bigger than I am, he is the most cautious and fearful of my dogs.

As the storm came closer, blinding flashes of light filled the room, followed by continually louder booms. My efforts to comfort Murph had no effect. I just had to lie there under the crushing weight of a smelly, wet, whimpering, shaking dog.

The storm eventually passed, Murph recovered and jumped off the bed. I slept the rest of the night in wet, dirty sheets. Then came the worst part, I had to get up at 6 am for another stupid work committee. When will I learn to say no? (Not to Murph, but to committees.)