The gathering storm

This morning I awoke to an eerie silence. For the first time since Sunday evening the wind wasn't rattling the storm shutters. I could hardly wait for sunrise, not so much to roll back the shutters and gaze once again upon the still-roiled Atlantic, but to get Crazed Puppy to the park to burn off some energy.

A high pressure area stalled to our north and Tropical Storm Noel to our south have been funneling 30-40 mph winds across our barrier island all week, and it has not been to Buster's liking. On Sunday afternoon with the winds just starting, I took Buster to his potty lawn outside the condo building and his little ears started doing the Flying Nun. When I tried to lead him to the car for our afternoon walk in the park, he just sat his little doggy butt down and refused to budge. The unmistakable message: No park. Back inside. Now.

OK, we'd had our morning walk, so a little tug of war, some indoor chase-the-ball and some solo shake-the-chew-monkey burned off enough energy. By late evening, though, I'd had to close the shutters on the west balcony as well as the windward east balcony.

The west balcony is where we've installed the grass-sod Pet-a-Potty for those times when an elevator ride and a walk across the parking lot are just not, well, feasible. With the eddying wind blowing rain horizontally onto the balcony, it didn't seem fit for poop nor pee. I thought closing the shutters would help. But to Buster's mind shutters where there once was a fifth-floor view did not seem at all like the spot he remembered. And to make matters worse, the shutters were rattling.

So when Buster peed by the sliding door rather than on the sod, I gave him a pass. Chalk up another lesson: One must never relent on potty training, even in a storm. For now it seems, anywhere is fine out there on the balcony, a message I definitely did not wish to communicate and must now rescind.

But the worst problem was the accumulating puppy energy. By Day 2 Buster no longer was afraid of the wind and would willingly accompany me to the downstairs potty lawn, but all the windy commotion made him hyper. Although the hype would build to frenetic running on his leash, once back inside, puppy continued bouncing, now off the walls. There's a limit to how much tug-of-war and chase-the-ball a 60-year-old doggy daddy can manage, and chew monkey was losing its appeal. Add to this a teething puppy's insatiable need to chew, on anything really but especially on things you don't want insatiably chewed.

And then, this morning, merciful calm. We just got back from our long delayed walk in the park, puppy damp slippers to chin from cavorting on the wet grass. A long drink of water, a rigorous roll-around-in-it toweling and now, thank the Great God Fido, Buster actually slumbers beside me.

But I must not linger. I must get chew toys aligned for the Chomper's inevitable awakening.