Today is punc­tu­ated by thun­der­ous excla­ma­tion points and storm-​scared dogs. Linus shiv­ers, quakes with pain caused by baro­met­ric pres­sure responses of genetic value.

DNA. Dogs who fear storms and loud noises come by this trait genet­i­cally. Per­haps it’s like the cir­cling before lay­ing down. That pri­mal urge to flat­ten the grass is built in and curi­ously remains, not dri­ven away through evo­lu­tion­ary progress. So then, early canines sensed atmos­pheric dis­tur­bances. This could have saved lives, one sup­poses, if the ani­mal lived in a hur­ri­cane prone or vol­canic region. The trem­bling may have alerted other ani­mals, told them to flee. This makes lit­tle Linus a sen­tinel dog. A warn­ing sys­tem gone askew, wrought asun­der by radar and TV chan­nels ded­i­cated solely to storm response.

But see… I will know. Tech­nol­ogy doesn’t have to inform here. This will be a ter­rific storm with light­ing and per­haps flash floods. Our weather dog quiv­ers next to me, here on the bed as I type. He pants. He will not rest. The dis­tant thun­der begins to move more quickly over the coastal plain. Poor guy. Nerves shat­tered. A quiet after­noon of com­mas and ellipses turns quickly exclam­a­tory in its essence. I’ll sit here with him until it passes. Some­times I do this for hours, all through the night, with both of us worn and tat­tered by dawn. We’re try­ing Elavil, some­thing to calm him, just a few mil­ligrams. Benadryl doesn’t help. Soft words in gen­tle good boy tones do noth­ing to quell his fear.