Snap! Crackle! Kaboom!

Once again Independence Day is here, and in this neck of the woods that means crazy people with explosive devices. When I was a kid, one of my friends had only one hand because he thought it would be fun to hold on to a large commercial sky rocket, and light it with his other hand. I always thought he was kind of stupid for doing it, but I never actually told him so. Here in the South, having one extremity missing isn't considered a sign that you've done something stupid, just that you are now a likely candidate for a job at the carnival.

The Fourth of July used to be awful for my old dog Molly. She used to be terrified at all the explosions, and could hear a ladyfinger pop a mile away. She would spend almost an entire week hiding under my bed, quivering in fear. Not so, Mr. Chandler. He is not phased by anything, not fireworks, thunder, or large trucks. I can take him out and all hell can be breaking loose, all he cares about is taking a pee, and smelling what other dogs have left behind. Sasha is not so brave. The same little dog that wants to take on every large dog she sees, hates firecrackers, and thunder. It scares her to death. So from this morning, until probably Monday morning, Sasha will be peeing and pooping in Mark's shower. I just hope Mark looks down before he steps in there.