An earth shattering kaboom

So when that thunderstorm rolled in early the other morning, I did what I usually do when I am awoken by a storm:
1. Get out of bed.
2. Open window.
3. Lie back in bed enjoying sound of the storm.
4. Wait until there is a flash of lightning and scream because I see two creepy silhouettes standing by the bed.
My children are not big fans of thunderstorms. This started when my daughter was 3. There was a big storm, and I was explaining to her why I love storms – the soothing sounds, the cleansing wash of the rain, the chance to have your computer exploded. You know, the usual things.
She told me that she really didn’t like “the booms.” I took that to mean thunder, since a dislike of a boom mic seemed out there.
Using somewhat flawed logic, I told her that when you hear the thunder, it means the lightning has already passed, so you can’t be hurt. In retrospect I probably should have couched that a little bit better, perhaps adding that you can’t be hurt by THAT lightning, but its many friends that follow will do the trick.
Continuing on my ill-fated trip of thunderstorm acceptance, I opened the front door. I was holding her in my arms, telling her about the rain and showing her the trees blowing in the wind.
At that point the largest lightning bolt in the history of the universe zapped down right across the street and served up a simultaneous KABOOM!!!! that rattled the windows, dimmed the lights and, most memorably, made my daughter cry. A lot.
From that point forward, she wanted nothing to do with thunderstorms. Can’t say I blame her. Her brother is the same way. I think the thunder clap was loud enough to affect him, and he wasn’t even born.
So when the storms come, so does the horde. But of late, they have added a third amigo: Murphy the Excitable Dachshund.
Murphy, like most dogs, has never been a big fan of loud noises. (I recall in 1993, when I first got the late, great Montgomery, I made the brilliant choice to take him to a fireworks show on the University of Alabama quad. When the first one went off, I was joined by about 20 other people being dragged by their dogs’ leashes in a terrified sprint away from the show.)
Murphy used to find a nice little quiet space up under a desk where he could curl up and shake uncontrollably for the storm’s duration. Maggie the Attack Basset responds to storms and fireworks the same way: She sniffs to see if there is food and then rolls on her back and groans. Actually that’s how she responds to everything.
So anywho, Murphy has decided the desk coverage is no longer adequate and has taken to waging an all-out war on the gate going up the stairs until he can burst through and come to my bed to curl up and shake uncontrollably for the storm’s duration.
During this latest storm, I heard the ruckus and assumed it was someone breaking into the house or something, so I went back to sleep. A few seconds later, 12 pounds of meatloaf-shaped terror came flying on top of me. I am not sure where he got a catapult, but that is the only explanation for how he was delivered to me.
I was not pleased with this, so I picked Murphy up and took him back downstairs. I secured the gate and started back up the stairs. About halfway up – KABOOM!!!
And off goes Murphy. He bit the gate. He scratched the gate. He barked at the gate. He head butted the gate. He stopped only long enough to look up at me with his big brown eyes, which looked especially weird because he was shaking so much.
“Fine,” I said, opening the gate. Murphy sprinted to his spot, which, according to him, is on my pillow. Maggie responded by groaning.
I guess for now I will just have to know that when the storms come I may have a lot of company coming to join me. Next storm, I think I may go sleep on the couch.