Dogs in Rain

Winter is coming early to our Washington island, and everybody’s grumbling.  As clouds gather and rains dampen the woods, the world seems to quiet, birds fly south, and conversations on the ferry become serious and muffled.

Especially affected by the weather change are my beloved dogs:  Logan, a German shepherd, and Phoebe, a beagle.  On our newly cold mornings, the dogs lounge around on their beds later and with more conviction than they do in the summer, and they seem to want to eat more and store up fat for winter.  They also resist going out into the rain.  When I call them to the door, you’d think I was trying to coax them to their execution.  I become the vicious ogre whom they wish they could ignore.

Logan straightens up to his most regal height and gives me an imperious look.  If you force me out into that inclement weather, you are insensitive and vile, his noble bearing says.  The least you could do is provide a valet with an umbrella.

Phoebe scrunches down as if she is trying to disappear.  She digs her nails into the limestone pavers on the porch, and her sad brown eyes implore, Oh, please.  I don’t want to get wet.  Can’t you put out some other beagle besides me?

“You’re the only beagle we’ve got,” I say.

Jeeez. Phoebe’s tail droops, and her demeanor darkens.

I, the brute, push her little rump and force her out into the rain.  As she blinks against the drops, her forehead furrows into troubled lines.  Raising her paws extra high, she steps onto the soggy grass as if it were hot coals.  On her return to the back door, she walks next to the house so the overhanging eaves will keep rain from falling on her.

The dogs begrudgingly endure my bath towel drying their paws, and they pout for about four seconds.  But then they nuzzle me and press against my legs to show their love again.  You’d think I’d never forced them out into the dreaded cold and rain.  If only we humans could be so forgiving.