In March, on one of our last nights in Florida, I woke up at 3 a.m. to get a glass of water (not), and while sitting on the commode, a dog walked out of the shower. Bad dream? No. Startling? Yes. Thankfully, it was our dog. “I know, I know. It’s OK. She chose it,” Rebecca said after hearing me gasp at the sight of a ghostly white creature ogling me from the stall. “Chose it? What the heck are you talking about?” I asked, stumbling back into bed. We had been having another typical southwest Florida storm, complete with heavy rains, loud booms of thunder and frightening flashes of lightning. Nothing ever bothered Madison in her youth. She was fearless, except for the vacuum. But somewhere along the way, she became afraid…