Rainy Season

It is rainy season in Oregon. For those that do not live in the Pacific NW the rain starts on a bad year in October and lets up sometime the following June. It has been bad this year. The rain has been oppressive. It is dark and grey. Everything is water laden and sloppy. It makes it hard to be a pup that doesn't like to get his feet wet. The last few days in particular it has just poured. It is cold and windy. Taren does the potty dance and I take him down and he runs to the door. Hurry up momma! Hurry up! I fling open the door and he takes one look out, screeches on the brakes, and heads back up stairs. Lather, rinse, repeat throughout the day. At some point I tell him- Bubba, you are going out to potty like it or not. He can be horrifically stubborn and refuses to move. I end up lifting his back hips gently off the floor and steering him out the door. It is the only way. He is much too big to lift fluffie style and use the heave and toss method I see so often deployed by the owners of our smaller, hairier and more yappy cousins. The long suffering finally gives in and walks out into the rain, but not before giving one last look over his shoulder to his betrayer. Ya, the momma knows. Here's the phone, Animal Welfare is on speed dial. In the end he gets his final revenge, as he shakes off and his muddy paws leave a trail on my white tile.

Then there is the mighty squirrel hunter. I laid out some nuts for the squirrels for Christmas. I got a lot of bang for my nut bucks. The squirrels went crazy and Caelan is in stalker heaven. I cannot get the door open quick enough. He often clips the side of the door as I fling it open. I have glass french doors and I do not think they are long for this world, I can see a little sit training in our future. Nonetheless, he cannot get out there fast enough. He stalks and quivers, jumping on and off the deck racing along the fence. Back and again. All the while the squirrel chatters and throws down nut shells, teasing. Caelan is getting wetter and wetter. The rain running off his coat. I call him in, he hears me, as he glances over his shoulder and goes back to watching. Bad boy! I give him a bit more time, and go get a towel. I call him again, a bit more sharply. Nothing, the dog does not move. Note to self, train, train, train. I am kind of like Taren, I glance out and decide if I am going to have to go out in the rain barefoot and drag Caelan back in the house. He is just sopping wet. I finally go get the treat bag and shake. He comes running, as does Taren from upstairs. The clearest way to a dogs good sense is through his stomach. He takes his turn shaking water all over the house and I dry him off. Summer cannot come fast enough for any of us, especially my poor, poor carpet.

Textures compliments of the ever generous and talented Rita.

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