Hurricane

 About ten years ago I had a big, huge black Rottweiler lab mix dog that was one hundred and twenty pounds. His name was Rocky. 

He was a monster and had guard dog mentality; he loved females, human and animal but was very leery of males, human and animal.  

Way down in Long Island City, on the East River edge, before the massive skyscrapers were built and obscured Manhattan views there was a dog park. Or rather it was city property that the community used as a forty thousand square foot fenced in Dog Park. We went there every day from the time Rocky was a puppy to an adolescent.  

One day Rocky and I met up with a play date with one of his favorite puppies. Looking back, I had not noticed that the weather was getting bad. Clouds, wind, rain. I had not noticed the weather report either.  

Rocky was starting to act strange, cowering, whimpering, wanting to leave immediately.  I realized we may get caught in a storm.  

Rocky knew better than I did, it was a hurricane. Why didn’t I check the weather?  

We had driven there. So Rocky led the way out of the dog park and we ran to the car just in time to miss the rain. It was torrential, then the roar of the hurricane and wind. I could barely see out the windshield. Driving was dangerous, we were trying to get home and so was everyone else.  

Poor Rocky was hiding under the back seat as I carefully maneuvered our way home.  

We just made it home before the worst of the storm. Rocky did not come out from under the bed until it was over.  

I learned my lesson: watch Rocky’s behavior whenever a storm approaches, and watch the weather report more often.  

Georgia

9.2020