Thursday, June 12, 2008

Walkin' in the rain

My dogs are princesses. Even Montel. They do not like the rain or the cold or any weather that might be slightly disagreeable. For the most part I'm okay with that. Other times, it can be inconvenient or embarrassing. Like the times when I have to pick Madison up (growling and snarling) and throw her butt out into the rain so she will do her business outside rather than in the basement where it is warm and dry.

Vicki extremely pleased with herself.

Vicki, especially, has a rough time with cool weather. She is a little dog - barely 9 lbs and quite close to the ground. She gets colder than the other dogs and takes longer to warm up. So I get her reluctance to go outside. However, when I got home after work, she and the others were too hyper just to leave inside merrily waiting out the weather. I wrestled them into their harnesses and dragged them into the wet, dark night. I, of course, had an umbrella.

Vicki took three steps out the door before I knew there would be problems. She shook the rain off her coat. Once. Twice. Three times. And then, she sat. And refused to look at me. It was as though, by not acknowledging my presence, she could pretend the entire situation was not happening. I pulled her along reluctantly behind me for a few blocks. Then I noticed she was shivering like mad.

Like every good (read: completely whipped) mother, I scooped her up under my arm. Under the umbrella. Soon she realized she was no longer getting wet. Kisses gallore were bestowed upon me. She stopped shivering. I put her down. Repeat the process. Shake. Sit. Drag. Shiver. Get carried.

I walked my dogs -- two pulling the leashes as hard as they could and one resting comfortably in my arms under the umbrella.


  1. Glad that I live in the country. When it's raining, my boy walks gingerly around the house UNDER the eaves.

  2. I miss my babies, especially Vicki.

  3. At least you try and walk your dogs in the rain - I stuff my dog out of the back door and tell her to come back when she's done.

  4. Vicki did the same thing again today. But when I took them to the park, she bounded around like she was fine, so I refused to carry her the rest of the way home.

  5. If reincarnation is what happens after we die, then Vicki is the kind of dog that I want to come back as: loved and catered to despite everything. That or the kind of cat whose owner feeds her fresh shredded chicken every day.


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