Look what the wind blew in!
There's a myth that my little city's name comes from a Native American word for wind. According to Wikipedia, it actually is from a Native American word for a particular type of clouds that are somewhat unique to this valley (which may be due to the wind...), but I can definitely see where the myth came from. It can get WINDY here. Blow-you-off-your-feet windy, almost. Definitely blow-your-skirt-up windy. Trust me, this I know.
And it comes as no surprise to, well, anyone that my crazy canine is terrified of the wind.
More specifically, she's afraid of bushes that rustle and tree branches that wave, leaves that scuttle across the sidewalk and tall grasses and plants that sway. And, more than anything else, she's afraid of grocery bags that float and tumble over the street.
She spends her walks in the wind ducking and leaping, dodging and looking left, right, up and down.
If I was a nicer, more sympathetic person, I'd... I don't know what I'd do, because I'm apparently not that person. Because instead, I laugh. I call her a silly puppy and tell her it's okay, Crazy Pants (Steve's name for her that has, somehow, stuck) and delight in her neurosis. Lovingly, of course. And you would too, if you saw her, all jumpy and skittery over a couple of leaves.
And then, once we're safely back inside, I pet her and kiss her nose and scratch her back and her chest until she gets her funny, dopey, "itchy face" on, and she wags her tail and smiles her puppy-smile, and everything's better again.