It's Official...

...Ray doesn't like fireworks. They were going off everywhere last night. Big displays on the corner of our street, the street behind us, all around. Gregg and I made sure we were home before things started heating up. I settled in on the couch with Ray laying on my feet.

The first big salvo of firecrackers brought Ray off the couch in a bound, yelling. I petted him and talked calmly and told him everything was all right. Back to the couch. For the next explosion, Ray raised his head and gave a menacing growl and a woof. Pet, talk calmly, everything is all right. After that, Ray didn't bother to raise his head, just lay there on my feet, growling whenever a boom disturbed him. Like an old man grumbling that the noise was keeping him awake. I continued my regimen of petting and talking calmly.

When I finally headed upstairs to bed (9:30 - I was tired from getting up at 4:00 three mornings in a row), Ray followed me. He jumped up on the bed and continued to growl a bit here and there. Gregg came up to get him after the fireworks had calmed down. When I went downstairs at 10:30 to get some water, Ray was sprawled out in his bed, as usual, sound asleep. Obviously worn out from keeping the house safe from democracy.