Nosmo King
Gold Member
It's mid June and in these parts that means fireworks season is in full swing. Pittsburghers love, and I mean Love fireworks with a capital L. Professional fireworks displays are so common at the ballyard that, rumor has it, a refugee family from the Middle East who were housed on the north bank of the Allegheny River a few blocks from PMC Park asked to be relocated due to the din of skyrockets.
Roadside fireworks stands start popping up this time of year the way toad stools pop up after a rainy night. Neighborhoods around here enjoy amature fireworks displays nearly every evening between now and Independence Day.
And then in August the annual St. Rocco's Day feast is topped off by yet another spectacular display of sky rockets. Way back when I was a little shaver, Mom, Pop, my baby brother, our dog Captain and I went to the St. Rocco's feast.
We had a grand time! Carnival rides and all the delectable carnival food, a dusty midway with sideshows and barkers, people demonstrating the newest kitchen gadgets that guaranteed to turn a radish into a rose or slice a single tomato so thinly that it alone could feed a battalion. And then we took our place on the north bank of the Ohio to watch the fireworks.
We put Captain in the car to await our return. The fireworks went off for what seemed to be forty five minutes, maybe more. Everyone oohed and awed and were fascinated be the innovative sky rockets. They were made by the skilled craftsmen at Zambelli fireworks in nearby New Castle, Pennsylvania. Let me tell ya, those folks at Zambelli are the greatest!
When we got back to the car, we found Captain in a catatonic state. The trauma of the noise combined with our absence had rendered that poor dog into a shivering, slobbering mess. He was never the same dog since. A car backfiring, a thunderstorm, any loud sudden noise made poor old Captain shake and pant.
It got so bad for him that Pop took him to the veterinarian for prescription tranquilizers this time of year. We had them at the ready to calm the poor pooch down.
The problem one year was who gave Captain the doggy downers. Mom had dosed him up in mid afternoon once the neighbors began a pop bottle rocket barrage. Pop then gave him a pill, not knowing that Mom was Captain's pusher. By 6:00, Captain was out of it! He staggered from the dining room into the living room as if he was Keith Richards on tour! Captain stood next to the wall of the living room, eyes glassy, tongue looking like a slice of ham from Gus' Delicatessen, and leaned against that wall in barbiturate induced bliss.
So far, I have been lucky with Daisy the Mutt. I make no fuss over the reports from local fireworks, I act oblivious to thunder claps. She really doesn't let much get under her skin. So far, and again I've been lucky, she sleeps right through the noise.
Roadside fireworks stands start popping up this time of year the way toad stools pop up after a rainy night. Neighborhoods around here enjoy amature fireworks displays nearly every evening between now and Independence Day.
And then in August the annual St. Rocco's Day feast is topped off by yet another spectacular display of sky rockets. Way back when I was a little shaver, Mom, Pop, my baby brother, our dog Captain and I went to the St. Rocco's feast.
We had a grand time! Carnival rides and all the delectable carnival food, a dusty midway with sideshows and barkers, people demonstrating the newest kitchen gadgets that guaranteed to turn a radish into a rose or slice a single tomato so thinly that it alone could feed a battalion. And then we took our place on the north bank of the Ohio to watch the fireworks.
We put Captain in the car to await our return. The fireworks went off for what seemed to be forty five minutes, maybe more. Everyone oohed and awed and were fascinated be the innovative sky rockets. They were made by the skilled craftsmen at Zambelli fireworks in nearby New Castle, Pennsylvania. Let me tell ya, those folks at Zambelli are the greatest!
When we got back to the car, we found Captain in a catatonic state. The trauma of the noise combined with our absence had rendered that poor dog into a shivering, slobbering mess. He was never the same dog since. A car backfiring, a thunderstorm, any loud sudden noise made poor old Captain shake and pant.
It got so bad for him that Pop took him to the veterinarian for prescription tranquilizers this time of year. We had them at the ready to calm the poor pooch down.
The problem one year was who gave Captain the doggy downers. Mom had dosed him up in mid afternoon once the neighbors began a pop bottle rocket barrage. Pop then gave him a pill, not knowing that Mom was Captain's pusher. By 6:00, Captain was out of it! He staggered from the dining room into the living room as if he was Keith Richards on tour! Captain stood next to the wall of the living room, eyes glassy, tongue looking like a slice of ham from Gus' Delicatessen, and leaned against that wall in barbiturate induced bliss.
So far, I have been lucky with Daisy the Mutt. I make no fuss over the reports from local fireworks, I act oblivious to thunder claps. She really doesn't let much get under her skin. So far, and again I've been lucky, she sleeps right through the noise.
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