Thank God the 4th is over...

Yes, I know. That sounds very unpatriotic of me. Rest assured, I am most pleased to live in the ol' U.S. of A. But why is it that everyone (and I mean EVERYONE) has to get bit by the pyromania bug every fourth of July? Not only is there a light show over in the Pioneer Park, but at least every other house in the block has to send off some bottle rockets or firecrackers. My poor dogs are still traumatized. The little crazy one, Hannah, has taken to twitching and barking at everything. She even barks when it is herself that has made the noise! Poor Phoebe, whose one remaining fear is a fear of loud noises, tried to squeeze herself behind the toilet. This was after I gave her two valiums. And she isn't very small, so she got stuck. Just imagine trying to unwedge a trapped dog from behind the commode--and every time she'd start to get unstuck, another dang firecracker would pop off and whoops, back she'd go. The big lug, Max, was very bravely trying to be calm--I found him with his head wedged under the sofa after finally extracting Phoebe from behind the toilet. I think he was trying to get his whole body underneath, but only his head would fit. Phoebe joined him promptly under the couch (she was able to get her head and shoulders to stuff under). I grabbed a beer, turned on four fans in an attempt to drown out the noise, popped in a James Galway CD, and tried to pretend I was calm, cool and collected. Unfortunately, sitting on the sofa made me a prime target for the many traumatized cats who wanted to sit on me and use me as a pincushion every time a "boom" happened. Things finally settled down after someone either set themselves or their barn on fire--The screaming sirens from the local ambulance/fire department squad seemed to squash the neighborhood's enthusiasm for extended explosive play. And aside from the occasional, sporadic crackle of distant hoards of last minute deals on fireworks, the fourth of July seems to be "over" for another year. Happy Birthday, America!