It's just so sad that I'll never be able to convince poor Ring Ting Ting that thunder is just Noises in the Sky.
That poor, poor, dog. She's so intrepid, so fearless in every other aspect of her life, so intelligent, so on top of things. Our running family joke is that she has a really filthy vocabulary in Dog, and curses fluently and with panache -- a Calamity Jane Cannary on four legs.
But thunderstorms just undo her. She tries to put up a brave front -- no involuntary defecation, no howling or panicking, as I've heard about with other dogs -- but no amount of hugging or ear-scratching or loving, calm words will still her trembling and panting, her desire to climb up inside my trouser leg to hide. I wish I could show her charts and graphs and Wikipedia articles explaining the sudden inrush of air that replaces a lightning-bolt with a powerful, bass-intensive cracking sound that seems to rend the sky.
But obviously that's not going to work. To her, a thunderstorm is always going to be the scariest, most dreadful thing imaginable. And there's nothing I can do about it.
The poor dog, having such a failure as a communicator for a Daddy. There, there, kid. There, there.