I wrote the following some ten years ago or thereabouts for the yahoo group for lightning survivors. It is addressed to a woman who was hit along with her dog and I knew she was deeply depressed and like me had experienced a traumatic brain injury, so I was attempting to reach out to her.
Hi Sarah,
I just wondered how you are doing and wanted to say hello to you and Frank. Are you on the road again? If so, I hope you are somewhere beautiful and warm, with sunshine and open water... a place where robins bring in the new day with birdsong.
Back when you told us all about your lightning strike and you mentioned your dog I wanted to tell you about Bernie. Before I tell you about what happened to him, I want to back up a little and tell you the whole story.
I once had a German short hair dog named Beckie who used to travel a mile or so away from the homestead I lived at to have an illicit affair with an unnamed border collie. As expected a litter of puppies arrived in due time. All of them had short hair and resembled their mother except for one who was huge and had hair that wouldn't quit. Once their eyes were open and they were taking on more character and definition we realized that he looked a lot like a St. Bernard, a very good looking one. How this happened from his parentage we don't know, but we called him 'Bernie'. Two of my kids were quite young and my daughter wheedled and cajoled constantly. "Can't we keep just one? I'll take care of him." Of course she got what she wanted, which was the cute one with all the hair. Bernie grew and grew and grew. He was huge and was too big for the confines of our home, so he became an outdoor dog. This was a disappointment for Bernie because he was very affectionate and wanted to be a lapdog. You would have to be Jesse Ventura to have Bernie for a lapdog. Of course my daughter's vow of care taking faded as it does with most children, so I had to take over. As Bernie's body, hair and good nature grew, his mind did not. This dog was dumb as a stump, but everybody loved him for his good nature.
The kids grew up and Bernie grew old. While we still had the resort Bernie was our bear dog, guarding the trash cans and treeing bears when they attempted a raid. He was a great favorite of our guests and he knew which cabins gave out the best goodies. One lady made a whole lasagna dinner just for him, and I know he had whole steaks grilled in his honor. Fillet Mignon, shrimp, ribs... In the summers, Bernie ate better than I did. He would always greet boats as they came in to dock, wagging his bushy tail and happily drooling. He knocked more than one of our guests in the lake without ever actually hurting anybody, thankfully. He used to also take off after cast lures if a guest made the mistake of fishing off the dock.
Our move to the farm after we sold the resort was hard on Bernie. He was terrified riding the fifty miles in my truck from the lake to the new place. Every semi that passed was a death threat and there was hair and dog slobber all over his side of the windshield by the time our trip was over. He was completely disoriented and missed being able to go in the lake on hot days. I would leave the outside cellar door open for him so that he could cool off on the cement floor. He had a regular spot for himself near the hot water heater.
As often happens with humans, especially ones busy trying to move in and fix up and take care of goats, pet birds and other dogs, the old dog was neglected. He was fed, of course, and occasionally brushed, but there were no boats to greet, no soft touch guests to beg from, none of the old familiar territory. Looking back, I think Bernie was depressed. He seemed to be moving more slowly and by late summer was getting a little disoriented... walking down the drive he seemed to forget which way was home. We had a period of severe thunderstorms with lots of thunder and lightning and Bernie would take refuge in his cellar hide away. More than once the lightning knocked out our power and I had would have to replace fuses in the old fuse box. Twice I had to replace the heating element in the electric hot water heater. Summer turned to Autumn and Bernie seemed to decline further. I noticed that he didn't go into the basement anymore and either slept under a cabin we moved to the farm or he would camp out in the field. Bernie had been an outdoor dog and it wasn't yet cold weather, so we didn't really worry about it. Then one day he didn't come to eat. We called and went looking for him, but he was gone. We checked with neighbors and days went by, but Bernie didn't come. I started feeling guilty and thinking that maybe he had gotten so disoriented that he just wandered off down the highway and didn't know how to get home. Maybe brush wolves got him. A week went by and the little Corgis found his body out in the field. He never had been very far from home. It appears that he just went to sleep and didn't wake up.
It wasn't until later that I put two and two together and realized what happened. During one of those lightning storms when the hot water heating element got cooked by lightning, Bernie, lying right next to it on a damp cellar floor got hit, too. That's why he didn't go into the cellar anymore, even on hot days. That's why he was disoriented and that's why he was so stiff in his joints and seemed to age so quickly. I feel bad that I wasn't there for him with some understanding of what happened. He's buried out in the field where he went to sleep.
So it is a little late and I don't know if it is okay with everybody, but I am adding Bernies' name to our list. I think you will understand, Sarah. He was a survivor for a time and he was a victim like the rest of us. He was a good boy, Bernie was.
Silverbear
Hi Sarah,
I just wondered how you are doing and wanted to say hello to you and Frank. Are you on the road again? If so, I hope you are somewhere beautiful and warm, with sunshine and open water... a place where robins bring in the new day with birdsong.
Back when you told us all about your lightning strike and you mentioned your dog I wanted to tell you about Bernie. Before I tell you about what happened to him, I want to back up a little and tell you the whole story.
I once had a German short hair dog named Beckie who used to travel a mile or so away from the homestead I lived at to have an illicit affair with an unnamed border collie. As expected a litter of puppies arrived in due time. All of them had short hair and resembled their mother except for one who was huge and had hair that wouldn't quit. Once their eyes were open and they were taking on more character and definition we realized that he looked a lot like a St. Bernard, a very good looking one. How this happened from his parentage we don't know, but we called him 'Bernie'. Two of my kids were quite young and my daughter wheedled and cajoled constantly. "Can't we keep just one? I'll take care of him." Of course she got what she wanted, which was the cute one with all the hair. Bernie grew and grew and grew. He was huge and was too big for the confines of our home, so he became an outdoor dog. This was a disappointment for Bernie because he was very affectionate and wanted to be a lapdog. You would have to be Jesse Ventura to have Bernie for a lapdog. Of course my daughter's vow of care taking faded as it does with most children, so I had to take over. As Bernie's body, hair and good nature grew, his mind did not. This dog was dumb as a stump, but everybody loved him for his good nature.
The kids grew up and Bernie grew old. While we still had the resort Bernie was our bear dog, guarding the trash cans and treeing bears when they attempted a raid. He was a great favorite of our guests and he knew which cabins gave out the best goodies. One lady made a whole lasagna dinner just for him, and I know he had whole steaks grilled in his honor. Fillet Mignon, shrimp, ribs... In the summers, Bernie ate better than I did. He would always greet boats as they came in to dock, wagging his bushy tail and happily drooling. He knocked more than one of our guests in the lake without ever actually hurting anybody, thankfully. He used to also take off after cast lures if a guest made the mistake of fishing off the dock.
Our move to the farm after we sold the resort was hard on Bernie. He was terrified riding the fifty miles in my truck from the lake to the new place. Every semi that passed was a death threat and there was hair and dog slobber all over his side of the windshield by the time our trip was over. He was completely disoriented and missed being able to go in the lake on hot days. I would leave the outside cellar door open for him so that he could cool off on the cement floor. He had a regular spot for himself near the hot water heater.
As often happens with humans, especially ones busy trying to move in and fix up and take care of goats, pet birds and other dogs, the old dog was neglected. He was fed, of course, and occasionally brushed, but there were no boats to greet, no soft touch guests to beg from, none of the old familiar territory. Looking back, I think Bernie was depressed. He seemed to be moving more slowly and by late summer was getting a little disoriented... walking down the drive he seemed to forget which way was home. We had a period of severe thunderstorms with lots of thunder and lightning and Bernie would take refuge in his cellar hide away. More than once the lightning knocked out our power and I had would have to replace fuses in the old fuse box. Twice I had to replace the heating element in the electric hot water heater. Summer turned to Autumn and Bernie seemed to decline further. I noticed that he didn't go into the basement anymore and either slept under a cabin we moved to the farm or he would camp out in the field. Bernie had been an outdoor dog and it wasn't yet cold weather, so we didn't really worry about it. Then one day he didn't come to eat. We called and went looking for him, but he was gone. We checked with neighbors and days went by, but Bernie didn't come. I started feeling guilty and thinking that maybe he had gotten so disoriented that he just wandered off down the highway and didn't know how to get home. Maybe brush wolves got him. A week went by and the little Corgis found his body out in the field. He never had been very far from home. It appears that he just went to sleep and didn't wake up.
It wasn't until later that I put two and two together and realized what happened. During one of those lightning storms when the hot water heating element got cooked by lightning, Bernie, lying right next to it on a damp cellar floor got hit, too. That's why he didn't go into the cellar anymore, even on hot days. That's why he was disoriented and that's why he was so stiff in his joints and seemed to age so quickly. I feel bad that I wasn't there for him with some understanding of what happened. He's buried out in the field where he went to sleep.
So it is a little late and I don't know if it is okay with everybody, but I am adding Bernies' name to our list. I think you will understand, Sarah. He was a survivor for a time and he was a victim like the rest of us. He was a good boy, Bernie was.
Silverbear