Monsoon season in South Dakota

Someone forgot to check the forecast.

My folks are following me in their van, and I've got a tent; we have planned on camping all the way to North Carolina. It's June; I figure there's no problem. Even if we hit a summer storm, I'm a Pacific Northwest chick. A little moisture doesn't bother me.

The weather we get in South Dakota, though, is different. This is not rain. This is not cloudbursts. This... this is black-sky weather. This is semi trucks jack-knifed on the median. This is cows huddled on high ground in what's left of the fields. Cars are parked under overpasses. Lightning is in the air. Visibility is zero. This is weather that says "You have pissed off a major deity and if you know what's good for you, you will damn well start building an ark NOW."

A motel seems prudent. We're not the only ones who think so, and the first is full. As I walk up to the desk at the next flea-bag joint on the Sioux Falls strip, I pray for a vacancy. "You got a reservation, ma'am?" My heart sinks, and I shake my head. "Ah, that's alright, whattaya need?" "Two non-smoking rooms, one night." "Sure, no problem." Thank you thank you. But... "We've got dogs..." I say, my voice trailing off. "How many?" "Five..." Five big hairy fifty-pound dogs. I hold my breath, waiting for a debate on restrictions, number, size of animals. Please please pleaseplease sir, we really need a room, they're good dogs, I swear, and the weather's getting positively Biblical out there. He looks at me askance, but shrugs. "Okay. 131 and 135, down the hall on your left."

I could kiss him.