The Irony of Thunder

Why do thunderstorms schedule their appearance over my home at 2 am? This is a bad time for me because hey, you know, the whole sleep thing. Don’t get me wrong - I absolutely love thunderstorms, from the very first faint rumble to the last house rattling boom and flare of lightening. I love to watch the ever-darkening sky, smell that electrifying ozone scent that permeates the air, and view the tantalizing glimpses of the light show to come. And then there is the rain, the gentle sound of the first raindrops to the monsoon fury that comes with certain storms.
If you knew my mother, the fact that I love thunderstorms would be a complete shocker, as Mom would have preferred to barricade in a bomb shelter at the first indication of a thunderstorm. Televisions had to be turned off, phones (the old style that wired into the wall) could not be used, as lightning was looking for our phone specifically to jolt through and fry us to a crisp. All electrical appliances were shut down at the very first rumble and sometimes when dark clouds gathered on the horizon. Mom would then collect me and bunker down in an area of the house that had the smallest cross-window access; that same lightening bolt that was hunting for our phone line was also seeking our windows to come zipping in, zap one of us in the ass to then streak straight through another window.
Anyway, I love storms. My dog? Not so much. At the first rumble, the dog comes whimpering into the bedroom, paws on my side of the bed, dog nose snuffling in my ear, whimpering louder with each boom and trying desperately to curl around my head and burrow into my hair. Then there are the body trembles, which progress into almost seizure type throes the closer the storm gets. Which prompts her to curl closer and claw at my head as she tries to find a way under the pillow, the blankets, my skin -- whatever will hide her from this atrocity of nature presently terrorizing her. (All of this frenzy inevitably wakes up SuperHubby who grumbles a WTF? before going back to sleep. Note that the dog comes to MY side of the bed for sympathy first.)
Recently we have discovered that the bathroom -- tucked between the wall, the bathtub and toilet – is the only spot in the house the dog considers a safety zone and minimizes the potential of a complete nervous breakdown when a storm is raging overhead, or just in the vicinity.
Not exactly a comfy place I want to hang at 2 am. The bed is where I want to be, sleeping peacefully, without a panting dog tongue in my ear.
Mind you this is not a small dog. She weighs about 65 lbs and is sleekly muscled and strong.

The irony? Her name is Thunder