Kickass thunderstorm night

Kickass, the doorstop dog, says there is something about a good old booming thunderstorm, particularly one at night when the lightning flashes bully the darkness with indifferent abandon.

Things deep down are stirred, vestiges of survival instincts when crawling out of the water and into the cave produced a sense of accomplishment.

The keeper says not to make too much out of a damn thunderstorm, and then he whoops at the next blast of lightning, and lifts his brandy snifter to the sound of rain pounding down on the roof.

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