During an SoCS post about coats, Dan commented “Maddie and I were standing out in the cold rain on Tuesday. She shook off the water and looked at me as if to say ‘Why are we here?’ I was like ‘If you pee, we can go back inside!'”
This reminded me of when Sadie first came to be ours.
We lived in southeastern Georgia then, and in case you don’t know, because you haven’t read me write it five thousand times, it don’t rain right in Georgia. It rarely rains and when it does, it rains weird. People hide in their homes when it rains and they do not know how to drive in it. It’s all that golf weather. The natives act like anything under 70 or the slightest bit wet is the end of the world. It’s a regional thing, I reckon.
We don’t carry umbrellas around here unless it’s rainin cats n’ dogs.
We lived in Georgia for over a month before it rained. The day it finally rained, I opened all the great room windows and I didn’t care if the floor got wet — I was downright giddy!
We’d lived in Georgia about six months before the toddlers pulled out all the outerwear, because they knew, even at ages three and four, even with their suppressed Hoosier instincts, that it was winter at home and it’s supposed to rain more than once a fortnight.
(You see this photo with a smile or a laugh, but as a mother, I see everything with a memory. Moo is wearing her $10 lavender raincoat from Kmart. It had butterflies on the inside and they were trimmed in orange — even then, Moo loved orange. Her boots are Sassy’s old Disney Princess snow boots. Her umbrella is Sissy’s old Powerpuff one. Sassy’s got the same $10 coat in pink, but it’s plain inside because it’s a 7 and apparently when you get to size 6x, you don’t need prints on the inside of your slicker anymore. Sassy’s rain boots are Sissy’s old ones. I didn’t know those were the last children’s rain boots I’d ever buy. Sassy’s umbrella is Simon’s old Tigger one. There’s the pool we HAD to have, or my children would shrivel up in the heat. There’s our old charcoal Weber. I still prefer charcoal, but no one cares.)
Rain is important.
Much like the trees, I knew I loved rain before I left home, but absence makes the heart grow fonder.
Back to my dog, eh?
We’d had Sadie for a coupla weeks before it rained some serious rain. She’d been excellent at scratching at the door to go out, and I trusted her as much as one can trust a dog.
She hadn’t scratched at the door after dinner, she hadn’t scratched before bed. Morning came and she still didn’t scratch. I opened the back door and said, “Go on, Girl!”
She smelled the air and wagged her tail a bit, but she may as well have said Nope.
Come on, who doesn’t need to pee in the morning?
“I’ve peed about five times since you’ve peed. I realize you don’t drink a lot of coffee, but surely you’ve gotta go?”
Would she really wait-out the rain?
How long would it rain?
We were at sixteen hours and counting.
I put on my raincoat and my flip-flops, grabbed my umbrella, and insisted my family do the same.
“We’re gonna walk this dog til she pees.”
I refuse to have one of those prissy dogs who won’t make in the rain.
We all got very, very wet while she searched for the perfect spot.
Finally, Sadie stopped to pee.
She crouched to pee as always. But she had to keep peeing, and as she did, her stance grew wider and wider and wider. Dogs are more flexible than they let on. Like dog doing limbo, she crouched to the max. She musta peed sixteen hours of pee. We all stood in amazement, at her seemingly eternal puddle.
She still doesn’t like to go out when it’s rainin cats n’ dogs, but she goes. Cause she knows if she doesn’t, I will walk her til she’s drenched.