My birthday is the Fourth of July. For most of my life, that's meant one thing: "Wow, they must set off fireworks just for you!"
I never liked hearing that, honestly. Because what it actually meant was that nobody could come to my birthday parties. Everyone had a cookout to get to. My best friend would drop off my present, give me a hug, and leave — because her family was waiting on her. I spent a lot of birthdays feeling like an afterthought to a holiday.
My mom tried to make up for it. She went all out — decorating the house, hanging those little red, white, and blue triangle flags all over the yard like it was its own kind of celebration just for me. She wanted so badly for me to be there, cake and all, surrounded by family even if my friends were scattered at other people's cookouts.
And I didn't appreciate it. Not even a little. In my teens, I wanted to be out with my friends, not stuck at home with flag bunting and a cake I didn't ask for. In my twenties, same thing. I rolled my eyes at the effort.
My mom passed away when I was 37, pregnant with my oldest son, Josh. And somewhere in the years since, I've thought about those Fourth of July setups more than almost anything else. I never told her how much it meant that she tried so hard to make me feel celebrated on a day that so easily could've swallowed me whole. I'd give a lot to tell her now.
Here's the other thing about the Fourth of July in my family — the dogs have never, ever been okay with it.
We had a dog growing up named Keila who was absolutely terrified of fireworks. My brother tried everything to calm her down — including a few late-'80s remedies I won't get into. Not one of them worked. She just shook and paced and waited it out, night after night, every summer.
Now I have my own four corgis, and it's the same story — Rudy, Buttercup, Molly, and Teddy all hate it. And where we live, people go all out with fireworks, way past what's legal, way past when it's reasonable, without a thought for the animals in the houses around them who are hiding under beds and shaking against the floor.
So this year, on my birthday, here's what I'm thinking about: my mom, who tried so hard to make a hard day feel special. Keila, who never got a break from the noise. And my own four, who I can protect a little better than she could.
If your pets struggle with fireworks too, a few things that actually help:
- Bring them inside well before dusk — don't wait until the noise starts.
- Create a "den" — a covered crate or a small room with the blinds drawn and a fan or white noise running.
- A snug-fitting layer (like a thundershirt or even a snug t-shirt) can genuinely take the edge off for some dogs.
- Make sure collars/tags or microchips are up to date — more pets go missing on the 4th of July than almost any other night of the year.
- Stay calm yourself. They read us more than we realize.
However you're spending the Fourth this year — with a cookout, a quiet night in, or a very good dog pressed against your leg — I hope you get a minute to think about the people (or the pets) who tried to make hard things feel a little softer. Tell them. Don't wait until you can't.
— from our house to yours, Happy Fourth 🐾