Fortunately, I’ve since discovered a way of coping with fireworks on the Fourth of July.  I put my dogs in the car and drive on the freeway (which is generally farther separated from fireworks than most residential neighborhoods are) with all the windows rolled up, the air conditioning on, and the radio playing, for about an hour.  We arrive in a large town that has a big public fireworks display, but cracks down effectively on the illegal neighborhood kind.  This town also has a dog park that’s far enough away from the public show that the noise is inconsequential to nonexistent, and the park stays open and lighted far into the night.  We hang out there until late enough that by the time we get home, the worst of the racket has passed.

Unfortunately, this workaround has recently become less effective.  Some people are starting to set off their fireworks two weeks before the Fourth, as well as a week after it—almost always waiting until 10:30 PM, when it’s been dark outside for hours, to do so.

By a stroke of dumb luck, I've stumbled onto another workaround.  In the past, when Eva began to Velcro herself to me, or just darted off to hide in the bathtub (actually a smart choice on her part, since it would be the strongest and safest part of the house in all kinds of disasters, from earthquakes to tornadoes), I used to make a point of speaking soothingly to her while running my hands over her in a calming way.  This past July, though, when the bedtime boom-concerto started up on yet another night after the Fourth, I was just too pissed off to do a convincing job of modeling calm for my little girl’s benefit. The best I could do was mutter under my breath about those rotten bastards, and what I’d like to do to them if I ever got my hands on them.

Much to my surprise, this spontaneous behavior was noticeably more effective at calming Eva than anything I’d deliberately tried to do.  In her dog’s-eye view, she seemed to regard what I was doing as growling.  Not in a loud, showy, ego-driven, male-bragging-rights kind of way, but conveying a much more controlled yet deadly-serious warning.  Just the sound of her alpha growling at a threat to her apparently made Eva feel more secure than all the unctuous stroking in the world could have accomplished.

Fortunately, I’ve got a large stock of this response that doesn’t require any faking. 

Especially so now that toxic overuse of fireworks has spread to holidays other than the Fourth of July.  I can’t realistically make a multi-hour nighttime escape to a boom-less city on every Groundhog Day, Shrove Tuesday, or other minor holiday.  Also, when there’s no way to avoid the auditory assaults, it can be tempting to wonder how the offenders might feel about some 3 AM blasts from my 12-gauge, pump-action shotgun loaded with double-aught buckshot right outside their bedroom windows (not necessarily pointed in their direction).

But hey, that’s only a frustration-relieving flight of fancy—not the sort of action that I believe would actually solve anything.