 Did he think they were gunshots or clasps of thunder spreading out from inexplicable lightning bolts tearing open the sky above our house? There's no way to know what he was thinking, but every single year that rangy, 75-pound country-born yard dog spent the Fourth of July in our shower, trembling, drooling, and whimpering in terror. Clark was lucky. We had friends whose terrified dog spent one Fourth of July fruitlessly trying to outrun the explosions. The next day, a good Samaritan found him lying on a hot sidewalk miles away, close to death.