Dogs are like farriers.

March 3, 2017.

Three days ago it thundered and rained like crazy so we were literally cooped up like a couple of wet, soggy chickens in our Hula Girl Henhouse.  This dawg hates going out in the rain.  Someone once told me:  dogs are like farriers:  they don't come when they're called and they won't go out in the rain. Yeh, I get that.  

Zuma paws the covers over her head when it thunders but she doesn't get upset.  It's the rain that annoys her, she doesn't like to get dripped on and God forbid she would have to step in a puddle. I have to literally drag/shove her arse out the door in between the booms which echo from the mountains nearby and seem a whole lot more dramatic than they are.  This semi-violent weather doesn't bother me, the harder the rain hits the roof the more I like it.  This laisez faire approach keeps the canine calm.

There's something magical about thunder.  I love hearing every heartbeat of its ethereal power rumble octaves of all levels; every beat breaking down as individual sounds and rhythms, and then ..... the air is silent, the rains drips on the roof and the songbirds begin to chatter.
  
That first evening of March, we happily hunkered down in our Spam Can, cuddled in the bed and watched a great movie. 

Zuma:  I'm not allowed on the bed?  Gotcha.

The next night the winds howled all around us and many huge trees in our area were uprooted, some falling on homes and cars.  A steeple blew off a church roof.  Thankfully, nobody was injured.  We were very happy to be safe and warm in our tiny home.

In this area, the rain comes and goes, often with little warning. Yesterday we couldn't go for a nice long walk/hike and that's a drag because Zuma needs to tighten up her butt and thighs.  Ha-hmmm.

March:  In like a lion?

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