I hate the Fourth of July. No, it’s not because I’m not patriotic. And it’s not because I dislike fireworks. I love fireworks. It’s because fireworks scare the shit out of our dog.
At the sound of the first hint of fireworks going off somewhere, the first pop, no matter how faint, she starts shaking like a leaf. I swear, I think she’s going to have a heart attack or something.
It’s gotten to the point where my wife and I can’t go out at night on the Fourth of July to enjoy the fireworks without worrying that our poor, scared dog with die of fright if left alone.
We usually try to settle her down by taking her into an interior bathroom — one with no windows — closing the door, and turning up the volume on my phone’s iTunes app. But she somehow still hears (or senses?) the fireworks.
This year we decided to call our vet to see if he, in order to help us cope with tonight’s fireworks, would prescribe a sedative for us. Ha! No, just kidding — for our dog. He was kind enough to sell us a mild sedative that he said to give her about an hour before the fireworks are scheduled to start.
So at around 8 pm, we are going to give our dog the sedative, take her on her last walk of the day, and hope that by the time we return from the walk, she’ll be all mellowed-out and ready for a nice, restful sleep.
And, oh yes, my wife and I will probably eat a marijuana-infused gummy so that, by the time we get back from the walk, we, too, will be all mellowed-out. I’m looking forward to a relaxing Independence Day night.
Of course, our cat is fine with fireworks. Nothing fazes our cat. He couldn’t care less about fireworks as long as he’s getting fed.