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It Started With A Bang

Here in little old England, on the 5th November, we like to celebrate bonfire night.  This symbolises when Guy Falks attempted to blow up parliment in 1605.

He failed, but what better way to remember than setting things on fire?

So, every 5th of November people have bonfires and let off fireworks. While I enjoy fireworks and participate in a celebration with my family every year a can’t help feeling sorry for my dog.

As I have mentioned before, one of my dogs is the biggest wimp on the face of the planet.This dog fears everything so Fireworks are no exception. While we go to great lengths to block out the noise and shield her, we are not successful so our only option is to simply provide comfort and wait for it to pass.

Unfortunately, when we go to my fathers for our own fireworks, the animals are left to their own devices. While my other pets simply sleep the evening away without a care for the noise outside, Holly must find shelter, usually in a wardrobe. So, it was with some surprise that we returned to our home on Sunday to find the wardrobe empty.

Now, this dog in not that small. She is a westie cross so you wouldn’t think there would be many places for her to hide, but you would be wrong.

As we scoured the house looking for our little fear furball, it surprised us how hard it was to find her. It was my daughter who eventually followed the sound of whimpering to under the stairs. Where the dog was stuck.

In her attempt to hide she had crawled under a collapsible table,  all we could see was her nose sticking out from the three inch gap beneath it.

I didn’t, at first, know she was trapped, which was why I spent five minutes wading through cat litter and calling her name as I tried to entice her out. When it became obvious that she really couldn’t move I had to think of other options.

You see, it wasn’t as easy as just lifing the table. Under my stairs is a very small space. The table just fits there and its surrounded by every piece of junk that I own but refuse to throw away.

I had to clean away the cat litter, to the horror of my cats who were sat crossed legged and laughing at the predicament the dog was in. It was then a case of slowly emptying the area until I had enough space to lift the table and set her free. Even then it involved some tugging on my part to get her out.

As we bathed the cat litter from her fur, I couldn’t help wondering how she managed to get there in the first place.

Well, alright, I knew how she got there. She shoved a shoe cupboard aside to get under the stairs then trampled through the litter tray, kicking it everywhere, before crawling into the tiny gap and getting trapped.

But, it would have been no easy task on her part.

I believe the cats helped in some way. In the age-old war of feline versus canine, I think they encouraged her in her endeavour maybe even assisting in moving the cupboard. When she was finally stuck they probably sat flicking litter at her.

As much as my pets love each other, I know Holly annoys them all sometimes. Was this, in fact, their form of payback? Informing her of a new hiding spot and taking delight in her foolishness?

 

 

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