🐾 Bailey’s Journey – Chapter 4: The Night That Roared

I knew something was wrong the moment the wind changed.

The sky outside the window had been sulking all day, turning darker by the hour. I’d spent the afternoon curled on the couch, ears twitching with every creak of the house. Even my favorite squeaky duck couldn’t distract me. That kind of quiet—the heavy, tense kind—always makes my chest feel tight.

When the first boom came, it wasn’t like anything I’d heard before. It wasn’t like the blender, or the vacuum monster. It was deeper—like the whole sky barked at once.

I jumped. I mean really jumped. My paws scrambled on the hardwood as I darted under the coffee table. My tail curled tight against my belly. I didn’t care how it looked. The sky was angry, and I wanted no part of it.

Then the lights flickered.

A second boom followed. The house gave a little shudder. My heart raced so fast I could feel it thumping in my ears. I let out a soft whine, not on purpose. My body did it for me.

That’s when I saw her.

She came into the room barefoot, in those soft pants she wears at night. Her face was gentle, eyes calm—even as the world outside roared. She didn’t say anything at first. Just knelt beside the table and reached for me with slow hands. I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

“I got you, Bailey,” she whispered.

She disappeared for a moment and came back with my blanket—the warm one. The soft one that smells like naps and belly rubs. I love that blanket. She wrapped me in it and cradled my head like I was made of something fragile. She didn’t pull me out. She waited, crouched down there with me, thunder and all.

The storm didn’t care. It kept shouting. Loud cracks, long growls, pounding rain. But somehow, with her hand resting gently on my back, it felt less like the world ending and more like a bad dream.

Eventually, she coaxed me out. We made our way to the bedroom, one pawstep at a time. Instead of putting me in my usual spot, she moved my bed right next to hers—close enough for my nose to touch the edge of her mattress.

She even tucked my blanket around me like I was one of those tiny humans in the TV shows.

“Just one night, storm baby,” she said softly, brushing my ear.

I curled into a ball, but sleep didn’t come easy. Every time thunder rolled across the sky, my body tensed again. My eyes stayed open longer than I wanted.

But every time, she’d reach her hand down.

Just a touch. That’s all it took.

At some point, I fell asleep with her fingers still resting gently on my paw.

I guess even when the sky roars, you can feel safe—if someone stays with you until the storm is gone.