I hate fireworks. I am not going to beat around the bush and start by saying I only hate some fireworks, maybe just the loud boom ones. No, I hate them all. As a kid I used to watch them and later when I had kids, we would drive somewhere in horrible traffic so we could watch an hour’s worth of flashes only to have to try and get back home before dawn in the bumper to bumper traffic. It was never my favorite experience and knowing me, I probably offered bribes to my children to make it more worth their while to stay home than to go.
Now that I have dogs that fear fireworks, I really hate them. We live at the lake and had I known that lake living means neighbors shoot off fireworks for days….last 4th of July it went on for five days….I really don’t think we would have moved here. My daughter tells me I am getting old when I complain. Keep in mind, she is also the same daughter who has no problem saying, “mom, that’s not a good look for you,” on almost every Skype call. I have tried explaining that in order for me to look better on Skype, I would have to have ten foot arms and the ability to use them to hold the monitor a good distance away from my face. All she ever says is, “maybe dad can hold the monitor in another room.” Even my grandson now says, “Meemaw, show me your creepy face,” sometimes when we Skype. I make a big production of screwing my face up in all kinds of different poses, but I suspect with parents like his it won’t be long until he says, “No, Meemaw, make your regular face!”
I am fine being called old, but watching my dogs suffer during all the loud booms makes me sad and mad. This year I decided to get some medicine for Fudge to take the edge off of her anxiety, but realized after one night, that the vet needs to tweak the dosage because Fudge was stoned. And by stoned, I mean out of her mind. I had to bring her in from outside because she kept getting herself stuck under a washtub I have on our patio for growing vegetables. She was convinced something was just outside her reach under our fence and seemed to think pawing the space in front of her would make her imaginary prey appear. Fudge also had the munchies. She is a dog that eats like a bird, but that night, she ate her food down so quickly that of course it made a reappearance later in the evening. She kept prowling around the counter where her treats were kept and I was afraid at any time she was going to jump right up on the counter to find something that satisfied her cravings more than kibble. Fudge also kept licking and sniffing Vern, something she never does, and walked right over a sleeping Vern several times when walking around the living room. If you fail to see something as large as Vern in your path, there is a problem. I didn’t know if there was some kind of “fifty shades of Fudge” thing happening or she really didn’t see him, but I knew right then Fudge would never get the same dose of medicine again. The next morning, after finding her licking the bed sheets and making a mental note to self to change all the bed sheets, I called the vet to adjust her medicines.
We have had almost nine days straight of fireworks and loud booms and we still have to get through the weekend. This means we have had nine days straight of trying to move freely around our house without a dog underfoot. Nine days straight of going to the bathroom with two dogs crowding into your space and making even getting to the sink a trek. Nine days straight of trying to find Fudge’s hiding place in the house and telling Vern he is a brave boy. Nine days straight of second-guessing whether we can go out for a bite to eat or if we should just stay home. Nine days straight of cursing our neighbors and dreaming of a quieter place to live. I can honestly say the 4th of July is now my least favorite holiday ever. My worst memory ever of a 4th of July incident at my sister’s party when some guy asked our daughter, Hayley, if he could use her fork when she was finished, has now been replaced by the loud booms of this holiday making it sound like we are under attack. I swear if someone really were attacking our house, I am pretty sure I could single handedly take them down just imaging they are the ones making my life miserable this week. I am not usually a violent person, but I have been shouting things like, “I hope someone sticks a firecracker down their pants and their horsetail blows off!” and “I’d like to stick a roman candle up their nose!” Nose has also been replaced with other body parts on several occasions. Can you tell I have been researching names of fireworks to see if they are all legal in our area?
Around here, it seems like this holiday is THE one. Two restaurants that we visited this week had closed signs when we got there saying they were closed for the entire week. A niece sent me a quote from someone she knew and I will clean it up just a bit, but it essentially said, “When did a one day holiday become an excuse for drunk people to shoot off fireworks for an entire month?” The answer is I don’t know, but I have had enough fireworks in my life this week to last me my lifetime.