It was a dark and stormy night. Outside reigned total chaos and confusion: the wind howled; the rain
pounded; the thunder roared; and the lightening sizzled. Inside dwelt only salient security and peaceful
serenity. Here everyone hunkered down, asleep -- snug and cozy and warm, oblivious to the ruckus,
secure in the knowledge that all were safe and sound. Sam and Fred, Bonnie and Cathy, Scamp and Grace,
and all the other dogs snuggled along side of Thumper and Pete, Boots and Smoky, Cleo and Cougar, and
all the other cats. All were tucked safely in their beds, comfortably snoozing away the night. Ah! There is
nothing to compare to the peace and security of a warm and friendly bed on a thunderous night like the one
we experienced!
Well, not everyone was asleep. Poor Clyde. The little cavalier spaniel had always been afraid of thunder.
As a cavalier spaniel, there is nothing “cavalier” about Clyde. He simply cannot stand loud noises, and
thunder especially unsettles him. And on the night in question we were having a real screamer, and
although everyone else was snoozing away in peaceful ignorance of any eminent danger, Clyde was
hanging on by a thread, grasping at straws to retain his sanity, although only a mere mutt.
Poor Clyde was tucked away underneath the covers with me, shaking and whining, no doubt thinking to
himself that the world as he knew it was coming to an end. I had not totally succumbed to sweet slumber
because anytime it thunders like that Clyde is sure to demand my attention, usually by exerting every effort
on his part to crawl into and under my skin -- anything to get away from the menacing monster that surely
must be responsible for such awful and unmitigated noise. And just when it seemed that the thunder had
surrendered, here would come another volley, tearing through the peaceful fabric of the night, stripping
away the silence of the previous few minutes, echoing in deep billowing clouds of rumblings, bounding and
bouncing off the walls and under the ground, shaking the house and all its inhabitants, all the while
screaming into the distance.
The walls rumbled; the windows rattled; the silverware in the cabinets tinkled; the beds shook; and the
whole house trembled; and Clyde -- poor Clyde -- began another round of spasmodic shiverings of his own,
shaking and cowering ever closer in the dark, whining and crying, clawing and clinging. For my part I was
fine. Looking around the room in the dark there was Sam in his usual position, prone on his back, legs
careening awkwardly. There was Boots, curled in sweet repose. There were the others -- scattered about
the room, some snoring, some breathing heavily -- all sleeping or in close slumber; none appeared to be
discomfited by the night's events. Everyone was there; everyone was safe; everyone was happily oblivious
to the din -- everyone except for Clyde, who from beneath the covers kept up his oft and erratic episodes
of uncontrollable spasms.
Then there was one very loud, very long, very persistent boom, which again rattled the windows and shook
the bed and blasted the ear drums and ..., surely this was the one that would finish us off! The echo of the
din persisted into the night and could be heard as it trucked off into the distance, reverberating and
returning, shaking and re-shaking the ground, seemingly stripping the house of its very foundations.
Throughout another minute or two, although close by the vibrations lessened, the echo of the thunder
persisted into the distance, while the volume of the rain, which beat against the roof and pelted the
windows grew louder.
The noise we heard now was rain -- hard and heavy, steady and strong -- against the walls of the house and
the pane of the windows. The wind had lessened now and the thunder had dimmed into the distance. The
rain became a calming and reassuring sign that perhaps the storm was abating, and maybe the danger was
passing.
I looked about me and could see that Sam was still in his awkward position, on his back with legs in the air;
Boots had not moved or changed his position in any way. The others were still and quiet -- they were all or
nearly all asleep. Over there Oscar began to paw the air -- obviously chasing a rabbit in his dreams; and
over here Cougar stretched himself before turning over and resuming his sleep.
In time things did grow quiet: the rain to retreat, the wind to wane, and the lightening to lessen. There
were no more thunderous booms, and darkness settled in. The rain ceased to pelt the house and the wind
stopped its incessant wail. The storm had abated.
And then another sound began to creep into the room. At first very faint, then later very steady.
Throughout the house there was not another sound to be heard except for the new and mysterious sound,
quaint but definite, distant yet very near. I lifted my head to increase the leverage with which I might be
able to discern the direction from which this new and mysterious noise emanated. And as I peered about
the room and listened with anguished purpose I could hear a sound -- a stream of faint but perceptible
noise. And finally I had my discernment: from beneath the covers emanated the steady and rythmic
snoring of one who had found his peace. Finally.
| Scared of Funders Daniel Taylor |
| Clyde, the cavalier spaniel, is anything but "cavalier." He is afraid of "funders." |