Enya for Emma

Flashback: Late August this year

I return to my parents' house late in the evening. The driveway is shimmery as it reflects light from the house. A few summer thunderstorms rolled through earlier. Coming from the house are faint strains of... "What music is that?," I wonder with a slightly furrowed brow and minor head-tilt to the right. I climb the few brick stairs to the front porch, open the door and now my ears are ringing with the soothing? sounds of Enya. "Interesting," I think as I navigate my way to the source of the New Age music, which seems to be somewhere upstairs. As I approach the closed bathroom door I have come to realize that Enya is not just faintly crooning at me, but blaring at me from the other side of the door. "What in the world?" I knock, and proceed to open the door. The family dog, Emma the yellow-lab, stares up at me, forlorn. She is lying on a blue blanket. I turn my head to the left and see an archaic (what can only be termed) Boom Box on the bathroom counter.

"Mom, Dad? What the heck?"

Soon it is explained to me that because of Emma's neurotic sort of behavior when she hears loud noises, especially during the summer fireworks at the oceanfront as well as seasonal thunderstorms, she has been put on anxiety medication, actual ANTI-DEPRESSANTS. At the urging of Emma's beloved vet, whenever these uncomfortable or jarring sounds occur, Emma should be escorted to a 'safe place' and soothing music should be played for her loudly enough to drown out the frightening noise.

[I would like to ironically point out that the ridiculous NAS Oceana Jet Noise does not seem to bother the dog. I guess Emma is a Republican, understanding the 'sound of freedom.']

Deep laughter bubbled up and over as I realized what was going on. My parents, who for YEEEEARS have laughed at and ridiculed people who fawn all over their pets, now have purchased anxiety medicine for their dog, provide a 'safe place' and the soothing tones of Enya. Love it.

Fast Forward: Last night

Joyce and Glenn have grown weary of Emma's anxiety-ridden quirks. Last night guests were coming over, so as usual Emma was drugged up with her traditional anxiety-med of choice and sent upstairs to her safe place. When Emma, 2 hours later was still beside herself in the bathroom b/c some yahoo set off fire-crackers on the golf course, Joyce decided, (I don't know what she was thinking) to try out the new prescription IN ADDITION to the two regular anxiety pills, concocting some sort of unknown Anxiety-Drug-Cocktail for the 65lb. animal. "MOM! You did WHAT?!" I gaped at her. Welp, that did it. Emma was all crazy-eyed, pacing, whining, jumping, pinging off the walls, and drinking gallons of water, [I mean foaming of the mouth might have been involved] until all hours of the night. "Oh. Deep thirst is a stated side-effect of the 2nd medicine," Joyce responded in a matter-of-fact tone when I concernedly commented on Emma's frequent drinking.

Oh Lord.

I have included a delerious photo of Emma when she was 'coming down' last night, close to 2am.

And another photo of Emma this morning in her hungover drug stupor.

[Note canine fetal position.]

Recently Joyce, when frustrated with the dog, has stated some extreme notions of sending the dog to a "farm somewhere out in Pungo or North Carolina." Ahh yes, the Pungo/NC farm option. Many Hampton Roads canines have gone the way of the Pungo or NC Farm. At least, that's what their kids were told when the pet suddenly disappeared. I attempted to diplomatically point out that perhaps no one, not even an animal-loving Pungo farmer, would be willing to take on a dog with "so many unique needs."

People, this dog is basically is a nut-job.

I have also included this lovely Enya album cover for obvious reasons. Thanks, Enya for making Emma feel safe and soothed.