There was a distant rumbling. It brought me slowly to the land of the non-sleeping.
I lay there for a bit and heard more rumbling, then flashes of light were noticeable on the walls and ceiling. Storm was coming.
I directed my myopic eyes to the night table where the digital clock said 12:23 a.m., in blurry red. The rumbling got louder. The flashing got brighter. Storm was closer.
I crawled out of bed and navigated through the dark house to the back door, then out to the yard, then over to the dog run where the grateful looking, tag-wagging dog stood waiting for me. I opened her gate and she made a mad dash for the back door. A fan of lightning and thunder, she is not.
Chaco met me at the door as he'd had the same idea and had gotten out of bed to save the dog from trauma by thunderstorm. No sooner had the dog gotten herself all cozied in the house, the storm arrived, bringing much lightning, much thunder, much rain.
I went back to bed, knowing sleep would be impossible, but thinking that it would be nice to be horizontal again. The storm raged outside. Chaco wandered around the house with a headlamp on his head, like a coal miner, searching for the cat.
In the morning, we all talked about the previous night's storm. All of us except for Meego, anyway.
"Wait... what? A storm? When?"
Dang, that kid could sleep through a trainwreck.
Same thing at last week's camping trip. I recall being awakened at least 4 times during the night by packs of roving coyotes. Loud critters, those coyotes. I wouldn't say that they howl. It's more like screaming. Loud screaming, yipping, yelping to their cohorts across the woods in what is their equivalent to, I guess, updating their facebook status.
In the morning, we all talked about the loud nearby coyotes. All of us except for Meego, anyway.