Bonnie

I like dogs.  I am, you might suggest, a Dog Person, with all that entails.

I try not to treat our polyglot, emotionally bemused and frequently barky terrier cross Bonnie like she’s my child, but it’s sometimes difficult not to.  Particularly when she is confronted by aspects of the human world that she can’t begin to understand.

She gets easily spooked by thunder, fireworks and vehicle sirens which inevitably leads to my reacting to her distress in the manner of a parent who is desperate to placate their hurting offspring.

In my neck of the woods of late it appears that the done thing amongst stoned urban youth is to blaze up a phat one and accompany your altered state of consciousness with a judiciously launched banger or similarly percussive firework – I’m only glad that we haven’t just had to go through July 4th and the volley of civil ordenance which so frequently accompanies the festivities.

Fireworks – hate ’em.  I really don’t see the point – if you’re really that desperate to literally have your money evaporate in smoke, hand me your notes and I’ll gladly set them on fire for you.  Perhaps you can even sniff the burning tender in progress and score a contact high?  Sound like a plan?

As for thunder, that’s something which I can’t do anything about – and in the British summertime, a few days of hot sunshine seem inevitably to be followed by a couple of days of equally intense downpour, with an accompanying soundtrack of thunder cracks.

No fun.

Dogs are wonderful, loving additions to any family and I’m glad to have Bonnie in my brood – I just wish that I had a clever way to divert her attention away from the things which appear to terrify her so much…

Bonnie on holiday, getting her sea legs

Bonnie on holiday, getting her sea legs

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