A Little Thunder...

You would think that one intonation of rumbling would not be enough to set a pretty strong-minded beagle over the edge.
As you may know, i have a dog.  he is a beagle- a willful, buggy, allergic, anti-training, big-ol'-baby of a beagle.   i don't write very much about my dog because, for the most part, i cannot stand him.  he is more work than both of my children (and let's face it- my husband, too) put together!  he makes the statement 'high-maintenance' seem like a trickle of dew.  he is who he is.
my beagle is deathly afraid of thunderstorms.  sometimes i feel like a woman with arthritis because i know when the rain is coming at least 20 minutes before it hits- thanks to the warnings of my dog.  it starts with him following me around (me, and only me.  god forbid he ever go to any other member of this household when he is frightened).  then the panting starts- panting so hard that pools of drool swell up in his wake.  then the pacing starts.  he paces right in front of me; back and forth, back and forth, trying to trip me (ok, not trying, but often times succeeding).  And then he throws up.  Not every time, but so many times.  it's just a scene, every time.  and this is pretty much even if it's just one clap of thunder.  an entire storm- don't even ask.
as i type, he is crouched behind my right arm (we are sitting on the couch) panting.  the arm of the couch is dripping wet; my right arm is lifting and lowering, lifting and lowering.  it's barely even raining.  
such is life with a paranoid beagle.