by George Beckerman

My name is Angie. I share a house with my husband Jack and our tan Shih Tzu, Muffin. I’m not gonna tell you that July 4^th is my favorite holiday. I tolerate it.  Even Muffin can handle it with a minimum of angst. But Jack is a whole other ballgame.

He’s been a fireworks runner for the past five 4ths. Unlike dogs, Jack can read a calendar, so on July 3rd he starts getting restless, anticipatory. Pacing and panting through the house. A little extra whiny. And the next day, when those loud, random booms commence, his psyche is rattled to its core. That’s when he takes off.

We’ve tried every deterrent imaginable. Earplugs, white noise, sedatives, horse sedatives, even built a ten foot fence around the property. Fail, fail, fail, fail, fail. Jack won’t get into a kennel and he will not stay still for a microchipping.

So how it works is, Muffin grabs a pair of Jack’s boxer shorts for scent and off we go to scour the neighborhood. Last year we found Jack huddled and shaking with a few other runners.  A shepherd, a Lhasa, a King Charles, even a Pit. Three years ago, he was under a crawl space with a Pomeranian, a Jack Russell and a Coyote. Jack is not an anomaly. Our drycleaner told us that a few 4ths ago the police located his wife hiding in a huge, abandoned sewer pipe three towns away.

This year we are taking a more personal approach, appealing to Jack’s innate cravings. A bag of juicy, well-done In And Out burgers will be strategically placed as bait deep inside the kennel cage. If that’s a bust, a 20” tv will be strategically placed on our patio in a huge cardboard box, along with a dvd of “Succession”, season one. Jack is an addicted binge re-watcher. Other than a simple ball on a string, we’ve got nothin’. Suggestions will be greatly appreciated.

 So with the 4th around the corner, Muffin and I are anxious, but hopeful. But of course, only God, er Dog, knows what will transpire.

 Wish us luck.