Yesterday Copper and I stepped out before a storm. He’s become an anxious little guy these days, clamoring for company when he senses bad weather. But I thought we could make it out and back before the rain fell.

Once on the leash he pranced and pulled. As usual I made sure he had no contact with passersby. And as usual he seemed oblivious to my presence.

But once we reached Fox Mill Road and turned back for the walk home, the air had taken on that super-charged feel it has when lightning is present. The sky was dark and clouds piled up in the west. I began to wonder if we could make it home in time.

We picked up our pace, I encouraged Copper with lots of “good boys” and “let’s get home” — and eventually (in what seemed like an eternity) we made it home.

I’d like to say we dashed in just before the big drops hit the pavement. But that wasn’t the way it worked. The storm blew over. Our mad dash was for naught.