We travel to Wisconsin to see some of our grandchildren and their parents. It's an arduous trip - probably because of the terrible airplane connections and the uncertainty of Chicago weather where we have to change planes.
During one of our spring time trips, a tornado warning sounded. We followed the instructions, went to the basement, stood in the designated "safe" corner and waited for the all clear to sound. We watched the progression of the storm on the computer (electric lines are underground) and waited for the magical ten o'clock hour when, we were assured, the threat would be over.
Ten o'clock arrived and I headed for the door, to leave. Mabel, the beautiful blue tick hound, stood up, walked over to the exit door, stretched out on the ground, crossed one paw over the other in front of her face, and rolled her eyes at me, as if to say that there was no way that it was safe to leave and we all had to stay there. I don't think she was protecting us so much as she was protecting the three children.
Eventually, Mabel stood up, glared at me, and stood aside so that we could leave the basement. The next day, we read that 3 tornados touched down right around our location during the 15 minutes that Mabel guarded the door.
The other night, we were visiting our 4 grandchildren who live close by. I sat on the sofa, and their dog, Shayna, jumped up next to me and stretched. She inched her way closer to me and put her paws out in front of her. I took a finger, and gently stroked one of her paws. That was OK for a few minutes, then she stuck that paw under her leg and looked at me again. I stroked the other paw. Then she rolled her eyes at me, inched her body closer, and put her head on my lap. She was obviously saying, in dog language, that she wanted me to stroke her head. When I didn't move as quickly as she wanted, she rolled her eyes again, picked her head up, and put it down more firmly. I finally understood.