I am experiencing a sigh of relief that the Fourth of July came and went. Once again, it was like sitting in the middle of a battlefield. My windows shook uncontrollably with every explosion. Even understanding the source of those wanton blasts, and fully expecting the outcome, I was downright scared.
My thoughts went out to those animals who were outside and forced to endure those horrid explosive outbursts at ears length, how terrified they must have been, as they don’t understand what was going on and to them the Fourth of July explosions were like the world was falling apart around them. I thought of my neighbor’s 30-year-old pony, whose eyes are half closed and stands quietly in the pasture. I thought of three tiny baby raccoons and the mother I saw not long ago.
There used to be many trees with abundant vegetation all around here, but no longer. Like any other place, they are replaced with cement and houses that are built on top of each other. I was concerned for the mother raccoon and her babies as there aren’t many places for wild animals to escape and hide from a “war-like” Fourth of July. I tried to watch those beautiful firework displays on television, but to no avail, as I was busy trying to comfort my terrified animals in the house.
The meaning of the Fourth of July is changing. Instead of celebrating the birth of this great country, many folks now are dreading the approach of the birthday and pray that their houses won’t be burned down by those selfish people who are competing to see who can blast the loudest.