When I inherited Boots, a Labrador from British bloodlines, he was extremely gun nervous.  He cringed at the blank gun during training sessions, even at a distance.  He cowered and went into his box when there was gunfire at clays up on the hill behind his kennel.  When we shot pistols down in the lower field, I would shut Boots in the farmhouse bathroom until we were done training.

When Boots finally became Our Dog, we spent a summer starting all over again with his gun conditioning.  We worked in small increments, studying the dog all the while to look for any sign of discomfort, as well as any sign of new confidence.  By coincidence, we were gifted two big lofts of homing pigeons; we used them, and Boots's bred-in obsession with retrieving, to do the rehab.

We treated three-year-old Boots like a puppy, egging him on with wing-clipped birds he could chase, carry, and fetch;  when he was zeroed in on the bird, we'd stoop and fire a .22 blank gun into the ground to muffle the report.  At first, he'd stop at the shot, then continue on after the bird.  Later, he'd show just a little hitch.  Before long, he was ignoring the gun altogether in his drive to pick up that fluttering mark.

We used his bruiser of a younger kennel mate, Finn, as competition, as confidence builder, staking Boots well back while Finn worked to the .22 blank gun, again fired into the dirt to avoid the sharp crack from the short barreled pistol.  When he began standing, whining, shifting his weight back and forth while Finn worked, we switched to gunning live pigeons, big white homers that were easy to mark.  Boots's friend John shot more than 100 flighted birds for Finn and Boots, first with light 20-bore loads, then later to the 12-gauge, 2 and 1/2" cartridges we favor for upland birds.  We shifted the gun and release points closer and closer until Boots cared about nothing except getting his turn to put his soft mouth on that bird.

When dove season began, it was more of the same, Boots sitting at heel well back while John shot for Finn.  Gradually, we moved Boots's peg closer and closer to the action until by the end of the second week, he was up with the gun, taking his turn as an exceptional marker, indefatigable retriever, and the mostly mannerly dog we have in our little syndicate of shooters.

But while Boots would now jump through flames to fetch a bird at the sound of gunfire, electrical storms still had his number.  I seldom have to consult the radar app on the iPhone;  when "Doppler Boots" starts pacing, panting, and whining, storms are brewing.

It was about that time that I teased my friend Ashley at Feedercreek Vet Clinic in Millersport (http://www.feedercreekvet.com) about their advertisement for Thundershirts®.  I am a jaded old curmudgeon when it comes to dog gadgetry and was giving Ash the business when Patty DeBruin, one of the owners of the clinic, overheard our back-and-forth and weighed in.  She had seen the Thundershirt® work absolute miracles with some of their anxiety-ridden pet patients. Patients who'd tried the product gave it rave reviews.

I am embarrassed to admit that I allowed this good dog to suffer another year before, in desperation, finally ponying up for a Thundershirt®.  The relief it has afforded Boots is incredible.  

I was doing chores around the house this morning when I noticed the dog circling, panting, standing at the closed bathroom door as if he wanted in (his favorite hideout during thunderstorms).  I reached down the stretch-fabric vest; Boots came and stood patiently while I velcroed it into place, comfortably snug.  The pacing stopped first, as I could see the dog visibly begin to relax.  In the accompanying photo, his tongue is out, but he is not panting;  the blur you see behind him is his wagging tail.  We came into my study, Boots took his place under the desk, and was fast asleep in minutes as a thunderstorm fell down around us.

If you check out the Thundershirt® product online, you'll see it touted for everything from reactive nuisance barking to the heartbreak of psoriasis.  Whatever. Talk to your vet;  heck, talk to your physician about the use of weighted blankets for anxiety-ridden patients.  Trust this. If you could talk to my dog Boots, he'd say, "Hie thee to my friends at Feedercreek and order your dog a Thundershirt®.  The bloody thing works."