Fourth of July is the Dog Day of Summer

It’s our nation’s birthday week and it brings with it a lot of traditions and nostalgia - swimsuits and sunshine, songs about America, mouth-watering smells coming from the grill and, of course, the fireworks.

I have many great Fourth of July memories. I remember, as a kid, watching fireworks with my parents while a local radio station played a soundtrack that went along with the show. There is, by the way, no better song to hear during a fireworks display than the Ray Charles version of “Georgia On My Mind.”

Then there was the time, as a parent myself, we accidentally launched a rather large firework onto my neighbor’s porch. The fact that we didn’t set that house on fire and/or give my elderly neighbor a heart attack is still a miracle to me. There was also the year that we lived in Las Vegas and found the local secret. If you find a spot to park in the northwest corner of the city, on the edge of the mountains,  you can see fireworks displays all over the city. It’s still the most beautiful fireworks display I’ve ever seen.

But there is one Independence Day that stands out above all others - July 4, 2006. I went with my brother to a friend’s house on Jackson Lake, just outside Jackson, Georgia. We grilled and we chilled. I was with close friends and my dog, Roy. It was the perfect picture of a Southern Fourth of July.

Roy was the kind of dog that didn’t really seem like a dog. He was a person. He was always with me and never had a leash because he never left my side. He just seemed to know how the world worked. He got along with everyone and tagged along with everything we did. That is everything except riding in the boat.

To say that Roy loved water is the biggest understatement. He was obsessed with water. He had to have been the reincarnation of a fish. The problem was, when the water splashed, he lost his mind.

So, when he rode on the boat, he would constantly bark and try to lunge and swim and bite the water splashing up the side of the boat. This was a problem because the residents on Jackson Lake had an annual fireworks competition and our plan was to climb into our friend Jimmy’s boat and ride around the lake drinking wine, listening to the Rat Pack, watching the fireworks, and taking in the vibe. We knew, however, that Roy the rabid dog-fish trying to jump out of the boat and bite the splashing water the entire time would pretty much kill that vibe.

So, we left Roy on the shore. He wasn’t happy about it, but we knew he’d be fine waiting for us. He’d had to wait before with no issues previously, so we had no reason to worry.

I was wrong.

When we returned from our excursion, my enjoyment quickly turned to worry as Roy was nowhere to be found. Everyone tried to stifle my escalating panic, but to no avail. I looked, I called, and I whistled. Healways came when I whistled. Always. When that didn’t work, I feared the worst.

Had I misjudged his instinct to stay on shore? Did he try to jump in the water to swim and follow us, drowning after swimming himself to exhaustion?

My stomach was in knots as we searched the shoreline for him, hoping I’d see his eyes reflect off the flashlight beam rather than his lifeless body. We searched for hours. Neighbors came to the shoreline to help as we slowly cruised in the boat, searching and calling.

When he didn’t return overnight, my heart broke. He was gone. I hated myself the entire ride home. I’d lost my best friend. How could I have left him on the shore like that? I felt stupid. I felt devastated. I felt lost.

As we were driving past the I-20 Belair Road exit, just getting back into town, our friend Jimmy called.

“Guess who just came by my house?” he asked.

It was Roy.

A neighbor brought him over after finding Roy in the back seat of his car. The fireworks had scared him. He had crawled into the safest place he could find.

I don’t remember ever feeling as relieved and elated as I did at that moment, but also still a little foolish. Although he had never shown any sort of anxiety about fireworks before, I should have considered it. This was the first time he’d experienced them alone. From that day on, it would never happen again.

Since then, I’ve been hyper-aware of how each of my pets react to fireworks during holidays. They have no idea what all this ruckus is popping all over the place, so I do my best to make sure they feel safe. We all want to feel safe and secure – and pets are no exception.

I understand that now.