The concrete is wet. The grass is wet. My feet are wet. I don’t like my feet to be wet.
I don’t like the rain. Why is it here so early? Seems like last year we had rain in maybe January and February, not in November. Geesh.
If I expect to get wet, like when the groomer gives me a bath, or I walk slowly into a heated swimming pool, that’s different. But to walk outside, expecting sunshine and dry ground, and to have to endure wetness on the bottoms of my feet and then ALSO rain pelting my body…welll, the indignities of it all.
Dad calls me a fair weather dog. Mom Peep even thought about taking me out under an umbrella. That’s pretty funny when you think about it. Her, standing there with an umbrella over me.
It’s a good thing I don’t live in cold country, like Colorado or the Midwest or even the East Coast. I hear they’ve been getting hit with SNOW already. White stuff, cold stuff, brrrr. That would be super hard to take.
So am I a wuss? Probably. Big dog Rex taught me lots of things before he left, but not how to like the rain. He liked it. Stood out there and loved it.
Not me, you can have it. Bring on the sunshine.