Roanoke Times
                 Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.

DATE: MONDAY, June 20, 1994                   TAG: 9407150016
SECTION: EXTRA                    PAGE: 1   EDITION: METRO 
SOURCE: Ben Beagle
DATELINE:                                 LENGTH: Medium

IF THE STORM DOESN'T GET ME, THE SLOBBER SURELY WILL

(All of you grammarians out there can go read your horoscopes if you don't like the use of "who" in reference to a dog. This is my dog Millie we're talking about here, pilgrim. And Millie is a "who." You got that straight?)

The other afternoon, far in advance of the cocktail hour, a storm that seemed to signal the end to all we have held dear on this continent for centuries blew in from the west. Or, more precisely, from everywhere.

It had hail and wind and lightning and awful thunder. It was so bad, it would have made Gregory Peck hide under his bunk and forget all that nonsense about the white whale.

It made me wish I could hide under my grandmother's apron again.

During this kind of a storm, Millie tries to dig holes in the floor and in the furniture. She also slobbers a lot.

After a really good thunderstorm it takes me about three days to clean up the slobber spots. If I don't get them cleaned up before somebody comes to visit, I just explain that I have this dog who is afraid of thunder.

Sometimes, the visitors misunderstand, and they leave pretty quick, trying not to look at the floor.

During the thunder, I croon to Millie and say there's nothing to worry about - that this is nature in one of her most eloquent moments.

Then there is usually a clap of thunder that makes me scream and cover my ears - which is really not what you want to do when you are dealing with a dog who is afraid of thunder. It obviously is not very reassuring and adds to the slobber production.

With dogs the size of Millie around, you can hurt yourself during thunderstorms, and we aren't talking about lightning strikes.

During the last big one, I tripped over Millie while rushing to close a window and caromed around the room. I eventually struck my ankle on the coffee table legs, and it hurt terribly.

We won't get into the language I used on this occasion. Let's just say it was no way to talk during a serious thunderstorm.

Millie's mistess is usually safe behind the sturdy walls of a shopping center during such storms, and she asks whether we had a storm on Happy Highfields, too.

And I say: "It was a 200-slobber-spot storm if I ever saw one. The girls with the great eyes on the Weather Channel should live through a storm like that."