Pass the doggy Valium, please. I have just endured another episode of Winston’s thunderstorm neurosis and I have the claw marks on my leg to prove it. Either he needs medication, or I do.
I can’t figure out why, suddenly, my dog Winston is now seriously afraid of thunder and lightning. As a pup, he loved to go out and romp in the rain, but now he whimpers, paces, froths, foams, shakes and tries to crawl into our laps. It’s a most pathetic sight.
Did Winston experience some kind of thunderstorm trauma once upon a time when we weren’t home or is he simply beginning to exhibit an instinctive fear of storms that is common among canines? One friend said her dog always dove into the bathtub; another told me her beefy pooch sacrificed his rottweiler ego, whining and cowering under a blanket whenever a storm thundered outside.
So, what is it with some dogs and thunderstorms? My son’s band blasts noise up from the basement and Winston snoozes peacefully through it all, but the minute a little thunder rumbles, he turns into a quivering blob of pure chicken.
A friend was visiting recently and she told me about a T.V. show called “Pet Psychic,” a program she watches not because she believes it is legitimate, but because it is so obviously fake. This bizarre show features a lady who serves (or pretends to serve) as a translator for pets, dead or living, and their owners.
For example, my friend said that one day the pet psychic was out in a field conversing with a buffalo on behalf of its owner. It seems the buffalo wanted to know if he was going to be moved to a new pasture. The pet whacko … I mean, psychic, was able to reassure the buffalo that yes, he could look forward to a change of scenery. How nice.
When my friend got up to leave after telling me her very funny pet psychic stories, she paused and silently glared at Winston. She said she was passing on a message from her miniature dachshund. We both got a chuckle out of that.
It occurred to me this morning when Winston was going berserk during a storm and my efforts to calm him were failing miserably, that I might indeed be willing to pay good money to anyone who could communicate this one thing to my dog: “Winston, everything is just fine. Relax and save your froth for some real crisis.”
I’ve heard that the phrase “fear not” appears in the Bible 365 times. I’ll assume that is true, since I’ve never actually counted them all myself, and if it is, that means there is a “fear not” for each day of the year. Do ya think maybe God is trying to tell us something?
Far too often, when adversity blows into my life, I’m like Winston in a storm. God wants very much to reassure me that He is in control and I am safe in His care, but I often don’t hear His calming voice because I’m doing my version of Winston’s neurotic, frantic rain dance.
The fact is, Winston has nothing to fear when he’s inside our house during a storm. He’s as safe as he can be. And most of the time, I really have nothing to fear when I am afraid. It’s just a big waste of energy. As Mark Twain said, “I have spent most of my time worrying about things that have never happened.”
Jesus wasn’t like that. In fact, the Bible tells us that Jesus slept soundly through a raging storm that threatened to sink the ship upon which he was snoozing. When awakened by his terrified disciples, He simply ordered the wind and waves to be still … and they were.
I heard a song the other day that says, “Sometimes He (God) calms the storm, and other times He calms His child.” When we pray, God may choose to intervene and calm the craziness around us. But always, He desires to calm the craziness within us. He says, “Peace, be still” to our quivering, fearful hearts. And when we embrace the unsurpassable, incomprehensible, illogical peace of God, it just doesn’t seem to matter so much how big the waves are or how loud the thunder booms.