BIRCH, SITTING IN FOR JAMES LILEKS AT THE MINNEAPOLIS STAR-TRIBUNE: Fireworks from a dog’s point of view.

Hello, my name is Birch. I belong to James Lileks, who has the day off. I decided to write his column. On behalf of all of us in the dog community, I beg you to listen: Terror Boom Bomb Time is coming up and we dogs are begging you to stop it.

We have no idea what’s going on and it scares the heck out of all of us, except for Winnie up the street — he’s like a beer barrel with fur who wouldn’t flinch if a meteor landed next to him. The guy’s so chill his butt smells like ice cream. But the rest of us live in dread and fear, because this is the worst time of the year. And I say that as a dog with no sense of linear time at all, so you know previous July 4ths have left an impression.

Look at it from our point of view. It’s a nice night. We’re all outside, guests are over, the grill’s working overtime and we all are having a good time. Then, all of a sudden, there’s a sound we can’t explain. Something really big just made a huge boom so loud that we can feel it in our guts. Or, worse, a whoosh and a shriek. Or a lot of short, buzzing sounds like when your mouth is full of bees.

And none of you humans seem at all bothered. By any of it.

I’m, like, “Hello? Did you not hear that? Do you not smell that? I know you have bad ears and you couldn’t smell a dead deer if it was a mile in front of you, but I’ve got thick flaps of skin and fur hanging over my ears and I heard it. Every bang, boom and hiss. I’m convinced we’re all in terrible danger. It could be that the world is ending. Let’s find shelter! Now!”

But you humans just laugh and look at the sky.

It’s always great to see a new budding journalist make his debut, so read the whole thing.

(Bumped.)