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.

Now, I'm used to you people not understanding threat assessment. Every day the mailman comes to kill us and I'm the only one who recognizes the threat. I do, because that's my job. So I respond appropriately. And somehow I'm misbehaving, being shushed and get a Dramamine wrapped in cheese — like that's going to help. Might as well dip a towel in 3.2 beer and let me chew on it for a while.

When Independence Day rolls around, you think you're doing me a big favor by putting me in the Thunder Jacket. It's supposed to give me comfort because it's tight. If you were terrified because a mob is heading down the street setting everything on fire, would you think "Well, I'd better put on some pants I wore in high school."

Are you thinking that a tight jacket reminds us of our mother disciplining us? Newsflash, Dr. Dolittle: When I was a puppy my mom didn't cinch me up in Saran Wrap when I was scared. And then you have the nerve to stand there and laugh at me as I stand immobile, too embarrassed to move.

I understand that this is how you celebrate your independence from England. I mean, I have no idea what that means, but neither do a third of the morons making the Terror Booms, and they don't have the excuse of being a dog, but that's another issue.

Point is, we dogs lived with this for too long, and this year we finally did something about it.

You might have noticed that there is no official Minneapolis fireworks this year. Gosh, I wonder how that happened. Not saying we used our influence with city officials. Not saying we didn't.

But Minneapolis, for one, is switching to a laser show. A blessedly quiet laser show. No Terror Booms from downtown. And while I know there will still be Bad Sounds, it's a start.

It's the cats' turn this year. A laser show? Let the cats go nuts for once.