He hated thunderstorms.
They were loud, unexpected, and disruptive. Sure he was a cop, six foot tall, broad shouldered, and fit enough to take down an ox, but thunder frightened him. Nothing good ever came from a thunderstorm. Crime increased and then he had to adventure out to investigate. His two German Shepherd's even turned into whining pups again, showering at his feet, tail between their legs.
Tonight was nothing different. He was sitting on the couch, his feet up, with a cup of coffee in his hand while his boys slept as close to him as possible. The fire roared in the fireplace, and his TV was quiet. He would lose power any time now, but that wasn't anything new. Another crash rolled through the night accompanied by whimpers at his feet. A few seconds later his power flickered an...
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