Shelter from the Storm

©2008 Aileen Mitchell Lawrimore

            Lightning flashed illuminating our sleeping household seconds before thunder rolled from the rooftop through the basement. Over and over again the storm pounded our home, promising to awaken the whole family. But amazingly, the house slept on—everyone except for Charlie, the family beagle.

            Actually, Charlie is my dog. He rides with me on errands, follows me from room to room, and settles down beside me when I’m working. Still, the family joke has always been that Charlie views my husband Jay as the top-dog of the pack, not me. I can take food right out of Charlie’s mouth, but if Jay goes too close to the empty dog bowl, Charlie starts to growl at him. When Jay’s out of town, Charlie freely jumps up on the furniture at will; but when Daddy’s home, Charlie finds an acceptable place on the floor. And while he knows I will give in and let him on the bed, he would never, ever try that with Jay.

            That stormy night, I felt Charlie’s paw taps at my side of the bed as I heard his fearful whimper.

            “Hi buddy. You want Mama to put you on the bed?”

            Charlie trembled in my arms as the lightning lit up the room. I put him on the foot of the bed and he promptly got up and moved to snuggle up close—not to me, but to Jay. You could not have run a feather between Charlie and his top-dog.

            “I see,” I said to my beagle, “When the storms get this bad, you need Daddy to keep you safe, is that it?” I understood. In the storms of my life, I too feel shaky and alone until I curl up next to my Father.

            Charlie didn’t answer me. He’d already gone back to sleep, cuddled up next to his security.