Babysitting Pooch isn't going well. Last night she pooped in the house as L. dropped her off. We chalked that up to nervousness because dogs know when their owners are ditching them, and Pooch is rather neurotic to boot. She seemed fine after L. left, and played with us and followed us around the house.
But the fireworks. Oh, the fireworks! Neighborhood residents kept up a steady bombardment of bottle rockets, fire crackers, and M-60s until the wee small hours. Each explosion caused Pooch to cower and take cover under the sofa. She peed on the bathroom floor. She pooped in the kitchen. She vomited on the living room rug. I banished her to her carrying crate and this morning she tried to bite me when I let her out.
And we have her 'til Sunday.
Speaking of fireworks--we decided that instead of watching the Inner Harbor display from our roof, we'd drive five minutes and get the full effect. I parked six blocks from the Harbor and we were almost there when it started to rain. And then it began to pour. And then a monsoon hit, with great sweeping sheets of wind-driven rain. We ran underneath the overhang on the first level of the Legg Mason building, and sheltered there with a few hundred other sopping wet suckers for 30 minutes. Because the weather was so wretched a stampede of people was fleeing the waterfront, kids and broken umbrellas in tow. Nature provided her own fireworks display with bright lightning flashes and thunderous tympany. We waited for a lull in the action and fled back to the car and home. Pooch was happy to see us until more fire crackers went off. We watched several shows from our bathroom window--there were at least five major displays visible, not to mention the neighborhood small-arms fire.