There's a Storm a Brewing

The news always seems to vilify the weather. When it is raining it is portrayed as this horrible storm that will flood your garden and eat your children, but when we have no rain all they do is complain that we need rain or  have a drought, blah blah blah.

Weather is weather, we have absolutely no control over it.  In fact, why do we even have weathermen?  They are only right about 40% of the time anyway.  Additionally, compared to the rest of the world, we don't even have real weather here.  It hails and people are dodging for cover like it contains acid or high fructose corn syrup!  Minnesota, now that is weather. 

All that to say this...

Last week, with all the rain, the dogs didn't get much exercise but between dragging Lilly out to pee (literally) and keeping Abner away form the mud, I got mine.  Well, by Thursday night I was sick of babying Lilly and stalking Abner so I just threw them out and shut the door.

A few minutes later Lilly was begging to come in but Abner was missing.  A quick scan of our backyard and I found him, right where I suspected, digging in the mud.  DIGGING like he was getting paid.  And putting his face in the hole and rolling around like a hog on a Summer day.  Uhh

Since there was nothing I could do about it at that point I just let him stay out there and play assuming he'd be ready to come in soon.  Back in the kitchen I hear a bark.  I know this bark.  It is the muffled bark of Abner wanting in, his head shoved through the kitty door.

Sure enough there he was in all his muddy glory, dripping mud from his lips as he demanded to be let in.  Oh sure Abner, let me get that door for you.  Please come on in and tromp around my carpet with your muddy feet.  And while you are at it could you jump on the bed and roll around a bit, really grind that mud in.

After emptying the sink and grabbing a towel, the dance between Abner and I began.  The dance goes a little something like this.  I open the door to get him, he sees the towel, barks at me and runs away, just out of reach.  I close the door and he returns.


This goes on way longer than I think is funny so finally I go out, grab him, and carry him straight to the kitchen sink where he proceeds to protest my washing of his glorious mud down the drain.

I want to be mad but look at that face.  How could you be mad at that face?

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