We live in a flat

She doesn’t usually do this because she understands the meaning of a barrier. But when it starts to thunder loudly and the wind howls, she just wants to be near you, in the same space. She pushes into the kitchen without a thought.

For the first time, she launches herself upwards so that her front paws land on the counter top supporting her upright posture. After she is satisfied, she drops down and moves to the small yard where again she was never allowed. She peers into the gloom of the store room but decides against entering. She peers into the drum of the washing machine. The space is too small for her. There is no safe place to hide.

She finally stops by the side of the kitchen cabinet and stares out to the living room, where the thunder blares right outside. Her tail is tucked between trembling legs. You call her but she does not respond, already immersed in her own world of doggy apocalyptic thoughts.

Physically, you tap her gently on the rump to get her attention, ‘sit’, you say. She does, slowly. Does it give her some measure of comfort?

“Help me,” she seemed to be saying with her eyes perhaps. But my dear girl, no one can keep the thunder away.

You walk in and out living life as normal. There is nothing to be scared of, its just a storm, you tell her. You hold the gate for her, in case she wants to follow you to the living room. But her bottom is rooted to the spot. “Do you want a treat?” you ask, knowing full well her little head of horrors is drowning you out. You left the small piece of jerky by her anyway, and tie the gate open with industrial strength velcro.

After she realises that you are not going back to the kitchen, she makes her way to the living room and stood there in the centre for quite a while.  At length, she realises nothing is happening to her. And as the thunder dies, she lies down on her own and relaxes into sleep.