Thunder Dog - Michael Hingson [3]
Thanks in part to Mom’s encouragement, in part to my just working at it, and in large part to the desire to avoid more trips to the emergency room, I began to pay more attention to what I could tell about my surroundings through my ears. And somehow I learned to hear the coffee table as I approached it. I could hear a change as I passed from one room to another. When I walked, I could hear a doorway. As I continued to race around in my pedal car, my confidence grew, and I learned to get beyond the need for eyesight. How many other four-year-olds can race their pedal cars around the house at high speed in the pitch dark? Not the light-dependent ones.
As I follow Roselle down the stairs to my basement office, I begin to hear the first deep rumbles of the approaching thunderstorm. Roselle dives under my desk and begins panting again, this time faster and louder. She is one of the most easygoing dogs I’ve ever known, but thunder spooks her. It’s funny, though; Roselle has guided me during storms, and even though she doesn’t like it, her guide dog training prevails and she guides well.
No one knows for sure why some dogs are terrified of thunderstorms. It may be that they are more sensitive to drops in barometric pressure. Or perhaps, because dogs hear at much higher and lower frequencies, they are simply hearing the storm before we do. Another possibility is that dogs can smell a storm. Lightning ionizes air with the formation of ozone, which has a characteristic metallic smell.1 But more likely it has to do with changes in the static electric field that precedes a storm. An electrical engineer named Tom Critzer had a dog named Cody with a severe storm phobia much like Roselle’s, so he designed a cape with a special metallic lining that discharges the dog’s fur and shields it from the static charge buildup. I don’t have a magical thunder cape for Roselle but I do crank up the volume of a radio news program to help mask the rumbling and booming.
As we wait through the storm together in the dark, Roselle cocooned at my feet, I turn on my computer and do some work to pass the time. Between the noise of the radio, my fingers tapping on the keyboard, and the rhythmic mutter of my screen reader, Roselle stops shaking, and I can sense her body starting to relax. I don’t mind having the extra time to finish preparing for my morning meeting. We’re expecting fifty guests for four sales training sessions, and as regional sales manager, I’m in charge of the presentation.
An hour and a half later, the thunderstorm has passed, and Roselle and I head back upstairs to bed. In less than six hours, we’ll be at the World Trade Center.
We have a big day ahead.
2
1,463 STAIRS
It was one of those moments in which history splits,
and we define the world as “before” and “after.”
NEW YORK TIMES EDITORIAL,
SEPTEMBER 12, 2001
Roselle is under my desk again. This time she’s not quaking in fear but snoozing, as only dogs can, in utter relaxation. I’m scrambling to get ready for the morning sales training sessions.
It’s already been a very busy morning. Between sitting up with Roselle during the storm and then getting up just a few hours later, at 5 a.m., I almost wish I’d had black coffee instead of my usual PG tips tea, but I am a tea drinker first and foremost.
Because of the scheduled meetings, I had set my alarm for a little earlier than usual. I needed to get to work early and make sure everything was perfect for both the presentation and the breakfast. I was looking forward to serving what I thought were the best ham and