esrosedotblog

We are enduring the fourth or fifth straight day of afternoon thunderstorms.

By "us" I mean, first and most important, the Airedale Booker who is totally not into thunder.

We've gotten pretty good at prediction and listening and heading off some of the reactions, similar to those with fireworks.

Classical music played rather loudly is one solution. It seems to cancel the boom and low frequencies which, sometimes, even we can not hear until it is too late.

Today, for example, it got very dark and so I just went and turned up WUSC. This is not a reliable method however. Yesterday, they went down on their local antennas and static will not do the job. And we can't listen to that.

The other big solution is the "thunder shirt".

This is a garment you put on the dog and wrap it tightly. It has velcro so that you can get to snuggle pressure.

It had all the earmarks of a scam when we first saw it at PetSmart but we got it anyway. And it does promise a lot.

It is actually for anxiety of almost any kind. I guess it is comforting.

The only close example I have seen is a thing made out of boards that they use to calm some cows who get freaked out. It fits the stall and when the cow gets frighted they pull the level and clamp her in there.

I have to admit that, if we get it on early enough, it is virtually foolproof with Booker.

The problem is the "early on" part. If he gets going panting and pacing then it takes quite a while for the shirt to work and by that time the storm has passed.

Yesterday what with the static on the radio and a very fast approach storm, he took awhile to settle.

Today, no static, early on with the shirt. And I have finally accepted that the "impossibility" of afternoon thunder every day for two weeks, we are just simply ready for it.

The shirt is a puzzle. John knows how to put it on fairly quickly. I am still at a loss. It is totally counterintuitive. And when it is taken off you basically "destroy" the fixedness of it. I think I am getting it but "snug" is a tough thing with a wiggly Airedale and a swearing Dad.

Labels: Booker