What a day! Concerned at first that our corgi, Zeke, was sick (well, sicker than normal), I was eager to get back out to the campsite and bring him back to the other two dogs. It took only a quick glimpse of the other dogs to get him drinking water, eating, and barking just like the old Zeke! After he and I settled back into the site, it didn’t take long for the first powerful wave of thunderstorms to hit. At first, the gentle rain felt nice, and I hovered around the fire to keep it going despite the dampness. The rain only got worse, though. We shepherded the dogs into the tiny camper so that they wouldn’t get soaked (even though it was already too late), and mom stayed with them to keep them calm during the ripping cracks of thunder. I stayed out by the fire, fighting a losing battle to keep the coals lit, but a few purple bolts of lightning later I decided that even I should head inside as well. The entire campsite darkened to an almost nighttime hue, and mom, dad, and I curled up in the camper with three sopping wet dogs to wait out the storm. Having intended to be a meteorologist for about half of my life, I was analyzing the sky and the wind, trying to predict how bad the storm would get and how much longer it would last. I did spot a small area of rotation, but it was clear that the wind shear was too strong to allow any kind of tornado to form, at least anywhere near us. A few hours later, the lightning still flashed occasionally, but I dashed out to the fire to try to rescue any trace of embers that were left after the pelting. I headed back into the camper only to hear the radio announcer say, “You should come down to Conneaut Lake Park, because we’ve been having a supersoaker competition all day!” I flicked my hair back, sopping wet and dripping from the rain. “Supersoaker competition?” I said out loud. “I think God won this one.”
A few hours later and here I am, back at home after taking the German shorthair/beagle Tucker back home to spend the night with me. Three years old and still gets carsick, that one. We have a nice waterproof towel (which we like to call the “gack blanket”) that we spread over my carseat so that he doesn’t throw up on the fabric. After a fifteen minute drive home, I whirl over to pet him, shouting, “You made it, Tucky!” As I spin, he greets me with that characteristic doggy grin that says, “I’m gonna hurl, RIGHT NOW.” Why was this the only time that I locked the driver’s side door? Don’t ever trap yourself in a car with a carsick dog.
P.S. – Dear Tucker: If you had to pick one place to puke, why did it have to be the clasp on the leash? I have to TOUCH that, man, or I can’t hook you back up to the spike in the yard. You’re a creep.