It was 5:20am this morning when I was rocked from my easeful sleep. I awoke to crack after crack of lightening and rolls of the most roaring thunder I have ever seen. Once I got over the initial shock of being woken up to what looked like the closing scene of The Jungle Book (you know the one with the vultures that were based on The Beatles?) I heard cries of panic from the kitchen downstairs. I stumbled my way down to open the door and both of my dogs tore out through my legs and headed up the stairs for comfort.
One dog got into bed and immediately went to sleep, blissfully unaware of why she had been disturbed but more than happy to forget about it. The other dog was tearing around the room in an attempt to seek something I could not give him. Assurances that everything would be all right? Of course it would, but I can't tell him that. It hurts so much to see him so distressed and panicked that his world may be closing in around him. It went on for about forty minutes, his panting, crying, fidgeting. Worn out, he has now retired from fear and is spread eagled on the floor.
I wish I could have told him what my Mum used to tell me - "It's just God moving his furniture!"
*-Crying Lightening.*
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