KirstenL4W

Yesterday’s post gave me a great idea for today’s post.  This isn’t a story so much, but a series of small anecdotes that have to do with a dog and fireworks.

Growing up, we had two dogs at home.  One was a German Shepherd - a very smart, intuitive, scary looking but very gentle dog named Bambi.  She’s the dog that a lot of people remember very fondly.  The other dog was a mutt, a mix of a lot of who knows what - large breeds, mostly, because he was a pretty big dog.  Not the brightest creature, though his lack of intelligence was the source of much amusement for our family and friends.  His name was Rascal.

Rascal, as we discovered, liked loud stuff.  Our vacuum cleaner was greeted with tail-chasing and happy barking, and was subjected to lots of playful biting and duct tape surgery.  Shaking out a new garbage bag to open it up before putting it in the trash can brought the same reaction from Rascal.  The thing that excited him the most, though, was the Fourth of July.

In the States, we celebrate our Independence Day by blowing shit up.  We purchase specially made explosive devices and detonate these in the air to elicit ooohs and aaahs from the people around us.  Rascal loved this - it was his favorite part.  He’d spend the day getting ready for The Great Fireworks Chase by stalking the grill, waiting for choice pieces of meat to find their way to the ground so that he could fuel up for his big night.  He’d also go cool off by the pool, because it was really exciting when people would jump off the diving board and make a big splash.  The most exciting part of the day was after dark, which was the best time to see the fireworks.

My dad and his friends figured out early on that Rascal loved bottle rockets, because he’d jump up in the air after them.  He’d hover dangerously close to the bottle, waiting for the rocket to take off, so someone decided that instead of shooting the rocket straight up, they’d shoot it straight across the yard (the typical bottle rocket will travel maybe 100-300 feet, and my dad’s yard is much, much bigger than this).  Rascal loved the bottle rockets going across the yard, because he could chase them much better than he could jump up after them.  That dog sure got his exercise.

I don’t know what breeds Rascal had in him, but one of them must have been a fast one, because Rascal caught one once.  Oh yeah.  He caught a freaking bottle rocket.  In his mouth.  It blew up in his mouth.  He came running back to the launch area, panting with excitement, smoke pouring out of his mouth, and he was just waiting for the next one to be set off.  He was a bit annoyed at us trying to hose him down.

Another type of firework that Rascal liked was Jumping Jacks.  These are firecrackers, but they spin and take off a bit before exploding.  One thing I should mention - Rascal was a longer-haired dog, with really thick fur on his chest.  He went running after the Jumping Jacks, and one of them got caught on the thick fur on his chest.  A small flame erupted as it exploded, so Dad grabbed the hose to put the fire out.  Rascal was having fun, and this time started barking, biting at the water and chasing his tail.

I want to stress that Rascal never seemed to get any injuries that required any sort of aftercare - other than exhaling smoke and a bit of burnt fur, he was fine.  He was always ready for another go, always having fun.  We never deliberately let him catch any, either, because we didn’t want to cause him harm on purpose.  Keeping him in the house or on a leash would have done more harm to him - he would have hurt himself pretty bad trying to get free to experience the excitement, so we just let him run.  The best thing was to just let him be, and he was happy.  A happy dog, as dumb as he could be, was a great dog to have.

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