By Regena Handy
A neighborhood dog often shows up at our house during a rainstorm. Sometimes his appearance on the porch alerts us that a storm is coming. Even odder are the times he arrives in the middle of a squall, having walked some distance from his home to ours.
He never seems to want or expect anything from us. Never barks or makes any noise, never eats from the cat’s food bowl which sits only a few feet away. He simply curls up in the corner of the covered porch where the house makes an L-shape. When the storm is over, he silently slinks away, headed back in the direction from which he came.
His actions are a puzzle because he is probably allowed into the house by his owners and, even if that is not the case, there are numerous outbuildings on their property with open crawlspaces where he could find shelter. Plus, there are other houses closer to his than ours.
Last Friday a gully washer descended on us. Following daily showers and storms, it was no surprise but the abrupt ferociousness with which it arrived was unexpected. I was reading in the gazebo, paying little attention to the distant rumbles.
Suddenly the rain slammed against the roof and the thunder became a roar. I should have made a run for the house at that point, but I sat on enjoying the summer storm, watching the waves of rain tap dancing across the highway and the water gushing from the top of the garage.
Then the wind picked up and blew at an angle, sending me in a trot to the house. Though only a short distance, I was thoroughly drenched by the time I got to the door. And coming down through the yard was our neighbor’s dog.
His presence brought to my mind other storms and animals. When I was growing up, farm animals and pets went to the barn and outbuildings when a storm came up. None were brought into the house — well, let me rephrase — none except the kittens which I hid in my bedroom from time to time. But as our dog aged, his fear of storms grew and my tender hearted mother broke tradition and began to bring him inside.
The same happened with dogs we’ve had over the years. Both of our Australian Shepherds were fearful of the noise and were happier to be inside with us. But it was the Samoyed/Husky mix that was terrified of storms. He resembled a giant white wolf, his appearance deceiving one into thinking he was fearsome and fearless. But during a thunder storm, his terror was pathetic. Just bringing him into the house was not adequate; he would get as close to us as possible, crawling under our legs if we were sitting. Sometimes he restlessly prowled the house, seeking the safest spot. Several times he climbed the stairs to the upper level where all doors to adjoining rooms were closed and lay in the dark hallway.
We don’t have any dogs now. Our last one died earlier this spring. I’m reminded of him as the storm subsides and I watch our neighbor dog ease down the steps, heading home.
