Ahhhh . . . summer. The time of fireflies, flip flops, and Coppertone. The best time of year. Unless you happen to be Winnie Lew. For her, summer means fireworks, lightning, and thunderstorms. From Memorial Day on, it seems like summer has been on a collision course with things that go boom.

As a rescue, I don’t know Winnie Lew’s backstory and if there is some lurking doom attached to loud noises. But doom there is. She is better than the Weather Channel at predicting storms. Long before the first strike of lightning and the first big boom of thunder, she starts whimpering and shaking.

I’ve tried everything to calm her down. The thunder shirt only made it worse. The weighted blanket helped some. She threw up the hemp chews. And as always, my last resort is Benadryl coated in peanut butter.

Memorial Day was a double whammy for Winnie Lew. Thunderstorms and fireworks. By noon, the humidity had climbed to that sticky, oppressive level that makes your clothes cling and your patience thin.

The weather app showed angry red splotches moving in from the west, and I could already see Winnie Lew pacing behind me in my office, her nails clicking against the hardwood in that telltale rhythm of anxiety.

I grabbed the weighted blanket and threw it on the big comfy bedroom chair in preparation. I then checked my supply of Benadryl. Half a bottle left. And peanut butter. Half a jar left. At this rate, I’d need to stock up like I was preparing for the apocalypse.

The first rumble came around three o’clock – so distant I almost missed it, but Winnie Lew’s ears perked up like satellite dishes. She froze mid-pace, one paw suspended in the air, her brown eyes wide with that look of impending dread.

“It’s okay, baby girl,” I said, kneeling down beside her. “Just a little thunder, that’s all.”

But Winnie Lew wasn’t buying it. She bolted for the bedroom, diving under the bed with a speed that would make Olympic sprinters jealous. I followed, dropping to my stomach to peer into her hiding spot. Two frightened eyes stared back at me from the darkness.

“Come on, sweetie,” I said. “Get in the chair with me. The blanket will help.” She whimpered pitifully but complied. Winnie Lew burrowed herself between my legs and under the blanket. She pressed against my legs, her heartbeat racing so fast I could feel it through her fur. Poor thing was working herself into a panic.

The storm inched closer, each thunder clap making Winnie Lew tremble more violently against me. I stroked her head, whispering reassurances that neither of us fully believed. The real show hadn’t even started yet.

“We’ll get through this together. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” I murmured, though I was beginning to wonder if my sanity would survive another summer of storm-induced panic.

Outside, the sky darkened to an ominous slate gray. Rain began to pelt the windows in angry bursts, and lightning flashed, illuminating the bedroom in stark white before plunging us back into premature evening darkness.

Three seconds later – BOOM! – a thunderclap so loud it rattled the windows.

Winnie Lew yelped and tried to burrow deeper, practically becoming one with my thighs.

“That’s it,” I sighed, extracting myself carefully from under the weighted blanket. “Time for the big guns.”

I padded to the kitchen, Winnie Lew glued to my heels like she was magnetized to my ankles. Her breathing came in short, panicked huffs. Another flash lit up the kitchen, followed by an even louder crash of thunder that seemed to shake the entire house and made the lights blink off momentarily. Winnie Lew pressed herself against my leg so hard I nearly lost my balance.

The Benadryl bottle rattled as I shook out a tablet, my hands steadier than my nerves. I’d done this dance so many times I could perform it blindfolded.

Coat the pill in a generous glob of peanut butter, make it look like a treat, and pray it would take the edge off before the fireworks started at dusk.

“Here you go, baby girl,” I said. “This will help.” She finally calmed down as the storm began to calm around 6:30 p.m. At least, I hoped, maybe because of the storm, there wouldn’t be any fireworks to follow. How wrong I was.

The fireworks started around 7:30 p.m. that evening, just as the last rumbles of thunder were fading. Winnie’s ears perked up at the first distant pop, and I watched her eyes go wide with that familiar look of betrayal – as if I had personally orchestrated this acoustic assault.

She tried to burrow under my legs, all twenty-two pounds of her attempting to become invisible.

“Oh no, not again,” I groaned, feeling her trembling intensify. The Benadryl had barely taken the edge off from the thunderstorm, and now we were facing round two of the acoustic assault.

The pops and crackles echoed across the neighborhood as families celebrated with their backyard displays. I felt certain the neighbors must have been having a competition to see who could launch the most. Each burst of color in the darkening sky sent Winnie Lew into fresh waves of panic.

She whined and pawed at me, trying to climb into my lap, onto my shoulders, anywhere that might offer sanctuary from the assault on her sensitive ears.

I scooped her up and carried her back to the bedroom, settling into our fortress of calm – the overstuffed chair with the weighted blanket. But this time felt different.

The thunder had been nature’s random drumbeat, but the fireworks were relentless and unpredictable. A whistle, then a bang. Silence for thirty seconds, then a rapid boom, boom, boom, boom!

Winnie Lew’s whole body convulsed with each explosion, her claws digging into my arms as she tried to climb higher, as if elevation might somehow save her from the auditory torment.

“Breathe, baby girl,” I pleaded. “Just breathe with me.” I tried to model slow, deep breaths, but another volley of fireworks erupted – this one, sounding like it was launched from our own backyard. Winnie Lew scrambled to escape.

“I know, baby, I know,” I whispered, but my voice was drowned out by a particularly spectacular finale. A series of rapid-fire explosions lit up the night sky in red, white, and blue – patriotic and beautiful to everyone except the trembling dog in my arms.

It was during that blinding finale that something in me just snapped. I couldn’t do this anymore – not to Winnie Lew, not to myself.

“That’s it,” I declared to the trembling mass of fur in my arms. “We’re not spending another summer like this.”

The next morning, I called my veterinarian: “Doc? It’s about Winnie Lew. We need something more than Benadryl and hope.”

A week later, after a thorough examination, Winnie Lew had a proper prescription for anxiety medication. I haven’t had to use it yet, but the true test is yet to come – the Fourth of July.

The holiday when the Memorial Day fireworks would seem like nothing more than toddlers playing with sparklers.

But I think we are ready this time. Here’s hoping that my co-pilot has declared her independence from fear of all things that go boom.