Skirt Culture

I'm a dog person. When I'm out with friends and someone walks by with a baby and a dog, my friends notice the baby. They freak out over the baby. I don't even see the baby. I see the dog.

We got Annie when she was 8 weeks old. Her parents were farm labs and all her siblings went to working farms. Annie was dropped into our laps at a Wendy's off I-25 in Colorado in the middle of a freezing cold winter snowstorm in 1998; her remaining siblings continued on to a farm in eastern Colorado to work out their days. Annie became a dog-child to Tim and Nicole DeBoom. Maybe that's why we don't have kids yet. She's our kid. She's 9 years old now, and she has become the Skirt Shop Dog. She jumps into the mail truck and tries to go home with anyone who will give her treats. She lies on your feet and moves with you to lie on your feet in the next room until you move again. She has a white face and white paws and a few lumps (non-malignant) and the most worried little forehead. And she's just plain cool. She's a cool old dog.

Annie is perfect except for one thing. Thunderstorm anxiety.

Some of you must understand. If you just had an anxiety attack yourself, then you know what I'm saying. We first realized Annie was developing this affliction about 3 years ago. We started coming home to a hurricane of shredded papers, scratches on doors and other destructive behaviors. We immediately blamed the messes on our adopted dog Victor (he's a whole nuther story) because Annie could do no wrong.

One day we came home from a short trip to town, during which a thunderstorm rolled through. I opened the door and felt myself crumple. The room was covered in blood, splattered on the walls, a pool on the floor, and a steel kennel that looked like a great white had pummeled it. Annie was panting heavily, still partially inside the kennel that she had somehow torn to pieces, mutilating herself. This was when we knew it was really bad.

We started researching. We tried everything. Doggie prozac, herbal soothers, real drugs to knock her out, some brace that was supposed to comfort her, muffled bathrooms with music playing to drown out the storms, on and on and on. It's also important to know that storms roll through Colorado every single afternoon, so drugging her every day was not the solution. We needed the real cure.

I tried to contact the Dog Whisperer, but I believe this is the one affliction he can't fix. Cesar, I challenge you to cure Annie's thunderstorm anxiety. In fact, I challenge anyone out there to help cure Annie of her thunderstorm anxiety. I will personally donate $500 to the animal charity of your choice if you come up with the cure. Bring it on!

People say that when you have kids, your dog is just a dog. I refuse to believe it, and so for now, Annie the sweet girl with problems, is still the Coolest Dog Ever.