Miles barks. It’s a fact of life. He just barks. And he has different barks for different occasions. There’s the “Hey, you’re playing with me! I love to play! Let’s play some more!” bark. There’s the “Hey you rascally little squirrel, get outta my tree!” bark. There’s the “Hey, you two legged monkey walking way over there in the street, you’re too close to my house!” bark. And there’s the “Whoa! I didn’t see you there! Dude, you are way too close to my house and you’d better get away now!” bark.

This morning, I was loitering in the master bathroom, scanning over the drywall joints I’d been taping over the last few days. Not bad, I was thinking to myself. Not bad at all for only your second taping job. And it was about then that Miles let out a bark I’d never heard. It was mean. It was viscious. I looked out the bathroom window to see what was going on. I couldn’t see him. He’d stopped barking by then and so I shrugged it off. Definitely not a bad taping job, only a few swells here and there, not much to worry about. Mental pat on back.

I wandered into the living room and saw Miles sitting at the back door. It’s a sliding glass door, so I had a good view of him. He was panting heavily, his breath coming out in large, unsteady plumes of vapor. I walked casually up to the back door and saw a zig-zaggy, spirally trail of urine on the floor leading up to the puddle of urine he was sitting in. Like a third-grader struggling with math, I started to calculate: A minute ago I heard him bark really weirdly and now he’s agitated and has wet himself. Is something wrong?

So I went outside. My first concern was that maybe a neighbor had thrown something at him for barking. I don’t think our neighbors are the types (they all have dogs, too), but since he barks so much I can’t help but to worry about that. Miles wasted no time slipping past me into the house when I came out. Something strange must be happening. I headed into the backyard looking for someone, expecting to see a neighbor kid at the fence or something. But what I found was much more exciting. Right above our house, about a hundred feet in the air, was a great big hot air balloon. I didn’t know it was there until it’s burner flared up. No wonder Miles was so freaked. The burner was startling.

So I rushed back in and got Julien–much to Miles’ chagrin, I might add. If Miles could talk, I would have expected him to say, “Man, don’t go out there! Did you see that thing! Giant terror in the sky!” Julien loved it though. And a few minutes later, another one passed over, much closer this time. Close enough, in fact, for them to hear Julien yell, “Hello up there!” Julien was very impressed when they waved back.

Miles, however, was not impressed at all.