Did I ever tell the story of the time we took Harry (our dog) to the gun range to see if he would work out as a hunting dog for Dave? We had just adopted him from the SPCA and he had already shown great prowess as a rodent hunter, so we thought we'd give it a shot. He was so utterly petrified by the sound of the gun that we actually thought we'd lost him!
It turned out he was just hiding. Dave would turn around to look for the dog and poor little Harenzo was so terrified that he huddled so closely behind Dave's feet that no matter which direction Dave turned, he couldn't see the dog. Needless to say, we discovered that Harry is no fan of firearms. It probably had something to do with the tiny shotgun pellet we had removed from his chin when we first got him, but he even cowers in the corner if Dave so much as CLEANS a gun.
Anyway, this is a long way of saying that we're two nights into the legal 9AM-11PM fireworks and the dog is not a happy camper. The moment the blasts start going off in the neighborhood, his ears go up and he lunges toward the nearest adult for shelter. I keep reassuring him that everything is okay, but he's a dog! He has no idea what I'm saying.
Tonight was really bad. The next door neighbors were shooting off something loud in their backyard and Harry jumped onto my lap.
Where he promptly began the BARF MANEUVER.
Fortunately I was able to get him out the back door before he set off his own fireworks, but man. The poor dog got so upset that he threw up his entire dinner! I feel terrible for him. It's like he's being forced to relive his abusive puppyhood.
We had actually been planning to buy some fireworks to set off on the fourth, but I hadn't considered what we'd do with Harry. What's the doggy dose for Xanax?