4 November 2011
It's chucking it down. Let it rain, I say. I've spent the entire night up with three spooked Basset hounds after a particularly long and loud evening of fireworks.
Bentley, especially, is affected by the bangs and crashes. For Saturday night, the one evening where we should reasonably expect fireworks to go off for a bit, contingency plans were made. The radio was going into the kennel and blinds were being put up. But last night, on the playing field close to the house, a group of ne'erdowells were setting fire to a few quid of their pocket money for hours on end.
It's a gripe we have every year, and never does anything seem to be done about it. Is it wrong to ask that fireworks are not sold until a short, set time prior to Bonfire Night itself, or not at all unless to places doing official functions? They've been going off round here for days now. And only wet nights have given my dogs any peace.
Bentley is nine years old now and has always been something of a wussy character, but all animals of varying degrees of courage are spooked by fireworks going off. Granted, some of them react by looking bemused out of the window - all my cats are in this group - while others howl and screech and whine, which is the stock Basset reaction. Bentley, however, gets so stressed that it affects him physically - and it's me who had to keep getting up during the night to clean up.
There are at least two more nights of this ahead unless the one saving grace can keep the neighbourhood quiet and the animals chilled. And that's the rain. Right now it's pelting down against my window, but during the day it's of little value. Hopefully it'll keep up through the night and beyond, and Bentley can get comfortable again. So let it rain, I say. Let it rain.