On Monday night when I was prepping for Tiger's birthday, I accidentally popped a balloon. Major Tom was in the living room with me, and got a fright, but no real biggie. Until the second balloon popped.
He scarpered out of the room, not knowing where to go, panic in his eyes and body shaking like, well, like nothing I've ever seen before. Trying to calm him down was a struggle - he literally wanted to sit in my lap - and evertually I took him into our store room and brushed him till he calmed, but he did not come again that night.
The next day he wouldn't set foot in the living room. I mean literally would not go past this point:
All day he stayed in the kitchen, often settling in the store room, even when we put toys in the living room, or called him through because we were all there. He wouldn't even turn his back to the living room, getting as far as the corridor and then backing up back into the kitchen.
Today wasn't much better. We tried to tempt him in to the living room by serving his dinner in there - no cigar. Then this evening, the boys watching the football as they do, screamed in joy at a cracking goal as they do. Well, talk about PTSD...
So, time to work out how dog rehabilitation works.
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