I really should be getting used to the fact that come this time every year I have to choose the lesser of two evils and medicate Molly. The only other alternative is to watch her panting so hard her tongue is almost cleaning the floor, as she looks around for somewhere suitable to hide; however the only way she would find comfort in a hiding place is if I were to ship her over to my mother and sister for the week as you cannot go anywhere in England without hearing the hiss and pop of fireworks all evening long. Honestly, I think sometimes her heart is going to explode straight out her chest, sending a slew of her own fireworks all over us. Poor girl.
If I hadn't actually been to where she' originated from, there is no way you could convince me that she was from good old English gun stock. No way, Nada, uh uh.
So this afternoon, while it was still slightly light out I dragged her on to the field. She temporarily forgot about the impending dark and what it brings whilst romping around with Jet & Bisto (two other labs who obviously didn't give a damn). Naturally it was only about 10 minutes later when some idiot set off a firework (it wasn't even dark yet - come on people, really?), and it was homeward bound for us to break into the stash of meds that would calm Molly's racing heart and take her far away from it all. She's finally sleeping peacefully in her hiding spot as I type this post.