It’s a stormy start to the week. Each dog handles this differently.
Aria, as she’s gotten older, doesn’t care for thunder. At the first rumble, maybe even, before she goes to her safe spot:
In the closet. At first, I worried a bit about this. Then I realized that I took down her crate sometime ago. That was her happy place for her whole life. But she would rarely go in it, and I don’t have the room in this house.
So she’s in the closet. She likes a cocoon. As I type this, she’s under my desk, at my feet.
Winston?
Doesn’t care one bit.
As I type this, he’s in a bedroom I use for storage, curled up in front of the window.
Earlier I was on the patio starting my day, and he was at my side, listening to the grumbling thunder and watching the drizzle.
As for me, rain has upheaved my schedule. I wanted to get in a dog walk and run before my afternoon meeting. That ain’t happening.
As I age, I’m less inclined to go out in the rain unless I absolutely have to.
Inspected By Pat 