For most Americans, the Fourth of July is a glorious celebration of national independence from a tyrannical king. It is a day filled with backyard barbecues, potato salad of questionable age, patriotic T-shirts that somehow feature more eagles than the national seal, and enough grilled meat to keep cardiologists gainfully employed for another year. As the sun sets, families gather outside with lawn chairs, sparklers, and an almost reckless enthusiasm for setting small explosives on fire.
We dogs, however, have a very different opinion of the festivities. If dogs could vote, there is little doubt we would abolish fireworks immediately. In fact, I am working with our local member of congress to replace the Fourth of July with National Quiet Nap Day, complete with unlimited treats, belly rubs, and a strict ban on anything that whistles loudly or goes “BOOM.”
To understand why dogs seem to despise America’s birthday, you first have to appreciate one simple fact: dogs experience the world very differently than humans. While people see colorful bursts of light and hear exciting explosions, dogs experience what can best be described as the opening scene of an alien invasion.
The biggest culprit is our hearing.
Humans often congratulate themselves on having reasonably functional ears that can enjoy music, hear their names when someone is yelling from another room, and occasionally notice that the smoke detector has been chirping for three weeks. Dogs, however, can detect sounds at frequencies humans cannot even perceive. We hear things that never register with our two-legged counterparts: tiny rodents moving through grass, distant footsteps, the refrigerator opening three rooms away, and, the unmistakable sound of a bag of treats from the opposite end of the house.
Now imagine what fireworks sound like through ears like those. To you humans, it’s a festive bang accompanied by a pretty display of color (remember, we don’t see color beyond shades of blue and yellow), but to us dogs, it’s as if Zeus himself (dogs are well-known lovers of Greek mythology) is using the neighborhood as target practice.
Unfortunately, fireworks also have the courtesy and predictability of a caffeinated squirrel. Dogs like routines. Breakfast comes in the morning. Walks happen after someone picks up the mysterious leash. Mail carriers and delivery people are evil and must be loudly reminded of this every time they come around. Life makes sense. Fireworks throw all of that into chaos. One minute everything is fine. The next…
BOOM!
Silence.
BOOM! BOOM!
Three minutes later…
CRACK!
Five minutes after that…
KABOOM!
There is absolutely no pattern. If thunderstorms were jazz music, fireworks would be a toddler randomly pounding on a drum set while riding a roller coaster. Dogs never know when the next explosion is coming, so we remain in a constant state of alertness. It’s difficult to relax when the sky appears to be throwing a tantrum.
Even worse, dogs have absolutely no context whatsoever for what’s happening. Humans understand that fireworks celebrate some sort of event. Dogs do not. A Labrador or Terrier is not sitting by the window thinking, “Ah yes, another tasteful display commemorating the Declaration of Independence from the English.”
He’s thinking, “The sky has declared war.”
Imagine if, completely without warning and for no apparent reason, the world around you suddenly erupted into explosions – everyone smiles, hamburgers are thrown on the grill, and people comment “Wasn’t that one beautiful?” while staring blankly at the sky. You’d probably have questions.
We dogs have questions for you, but unfortunately we cannot ask them. Instead, we act out. Some of us hide under beds with the determination of professional escape artists. Others wedge themselves behind toilets, inside closets, beneath laundry baskets, or into spaces that seem to violate several laws of physics. A ninety-pound Golden Retriever can somehow compress into an area roughly the size of a microwave oven… scientists may wish to investigate this phenomenon.
Other dogs become living shadows, following their humans from room to room as if physical contact might somehow prevent the apocalypse. Then there are the vocal ones. Some bark heroically at every explosion, apparently convinced that if they simply yell loud enough, the sky will surrender. One has to admire the confidence.
Fireworks are not just loud, they’re flashy. Every explosion lights up the sky with brilliant colors that humans admire (oooooh, ahhhhh) and photograph incessantly even though each picture looks exactly the same. Dogs, meanwhile, see sudden flashes illuminating windows, smoke drifting through the air, smell strange smells invading their territory, and hear loud concussions rattling the house.
To us, this isn’t entertainment. This is evidence.
Our instincts insist that something enormous, dangerous, and completely unreasonable is happening outside. And instinct is a powerful thing.
When frightened, many dogs attempt to escape their otherwise happy homes. Every Fourth of July, animal shelters take in thousands of lost dogs that bolted through open doors, leaped fences they had previously considered impossible, or squeezed through gaps no one knew existed. It turns out fear is an excellent engineering consultant and motivator. It’s a good idea for humans to make sure our bling (a.k.a., tags) and/or microchip info has up-to-date contact details.
Of course, not every dog reacts the same way. Some seem almost completely unfazed. They glance toward the window after the first explosion, shrug in that way dogs shrug, and return to their nap. These dogs possess either extraordinary confidence or absolutely no situational awareness. Either way, they’re enviable.
Others tremble like leaves, pace endlessly across the living room, refuse dinner, or stare accusingly at their humans as though wondering why anyone would deliberately purchase exploding sky decorations. It’s difficult to blame them.
After all, from a dog’s perspective, humans spend the evening enthusiastically creating terrifying noises, laughing about it, and then congratulating one another afterward. What kind of species does that?
Fortunately, there are ways dog guardians can help.
Keeping dogs indoors before fireworks begin prevents desperate escape attempts. Closing curtains hides the flashes. Playing music or turning on the television helps drown out some of the explosions. Providing a favorite blanket, toy, or quiet hiding place gives nervous dogs somewhere safe to retreat.
Most importantly, their people (that’s you) should remain calm themselves. Dogs are remarkably good at reading human emotions. If you behave as though the world is about to end, your dog will adopt your demeanor and attitude. So chill out – for them.
Veterinarians (usually bad guys, but they do have their uses) can recommend various training techniques or medications that make the holiday much less fraught with peril and exhaustingly stressful for those dogs who suffer from especially severe anxiety.
There is absolutely no shame in helping a frightened dog feel safe and secure. I give out Chihuahua Credits to humans here at Stonewall Gardens who do just that (or to the ones who give me treats) – four Chihuahua Credits gets you a Gordon Gift!
It’s not the Fourth of July we dogs hate. It’s the explosions. It’s the unpredictability.
We hate that the sky suddenly sounds like it’s auditioning for an action movie while perfectly calm humans stand around saying things like, “Wait until the grand finale!”
If “National Quiet Nap Day” doesn’t pass and head to the president’s desk to be signed into law, I have a “plan B” that involves an overhaul of the traditional Independence Day celebration to include grilled hot dogs that mysteriously fall off picnic tables at regular intervals, tennis balls launched continuously until sunset, and absolutely no fireworks whatsoever.
So if your dog disappears under the bed tonight while the neighborhood celebrates America’s 250th birthday, remember that your furry friend isn’t being dramatic. They’re simply experiencing the evening with ears that hear far more than yours and instincts that insist exploding skies are generally worth avoiding.
Give them a few extra treats, a reassuring scratch behind the ears, and a quiet place to wait out the festivities. They’ll never understand why humans celebrate freedom by detonating explosives overhead – but they’ll certainly appreciate having someone who understands why they don’t understand. And let me add one final thought…
On behalf of my human, Matt, and myself…
we want to wish you a happy, safe, and sane Fourth of July.
