As I've mentioned before, Willow developed a problem with thunder out of the blue when she was about two or three. Since we can't/won't let her bunk in with us, she stays safe by curling up in the spare room next door, either on a sheet I lay on the futon or under the birdcage. (It's almost as if she figures Bandit can protect her. [snort] A 38-gram budgie watching over a 17-pound dog...)

Last night it was predicted that we might have thunderstorms, but none came our way despite an almost constant drumming downpour. But somehow Willow must have equated hard rain with thunder, because she clung to us all night as if it were thundering: usually our TV-watching or antics online with the "not a walk" bore her and she retreats to snooze in her crate until James sits in his recliner and she can have a snuggle in his lap. This time she was next to James or next to me all night, and she sat in his lap through an entire episode of NYPD Blue when she usually can't settle for more than 15 minutes.

All night she had on what I call her "Camille face," big piteous brown eyes like the Dame of the Camillas on her deathbed. So when bedtime came and she didn't want to stay downstairs, I figured she heard thunder in the distance and spread out her sheet. But she didn't want to settle there, either, and after the second instance of finding her off the futon, I led her back downstairs, where she promptly rolled on her back looking pitiful, but I said goodnight gently and turned off the light.

She apparently survived the night nicely, James reports. Maybe she was only imagining thunder...who knows?

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. . . . . noted and logged by Linda at 8:21:00 AM

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