We chased my insubordinate basset hound for almost two miles, as he, in turn, followed half a dozen deer on the side of the mountain over our heads. Not even the white tip of his upward-pointed tail, bred into bassets precisely for detection purposes, was visible for much of the time, making my heart sink.

Temporarily.

This resilient hunter returned, exhausted, his tongue almost dragging on the ground next to his ears.

(Amusement came afterward.)

Why do I mention this? Well, we came back just in time to hide from this—the worst thunder-and-lightning-and-hail-and-torrential-downpour-repeat that I've seen here in the mountains.