It was my turn to get up and walk the dog today, and I was not feeling it. I mean, not that I ever hop out of bed, full of excitement to greet the day and walk/run a spastic pup before the sun is up. Usually I manage to drag myself out of bed and into running clothes with a minimal amount of grumbling. Mostly because (1) Keith is asleep, so there's no one to complain to, and (2) I'm still half-asleep anyway.
But as I'd mentioned yesterday, the weather has taken a turn for the worse. It rained all night. This morning, I was relieved to wake up and not hear a steady patter. Well, that's not so bad then! I tried to encourage myself to get out of bed. It may be frigid outside, but at least it's not raining!
Except it was. When I finally dragged myself out of bed and downstairs to let the dog outside pre-run, I saw that it was still raining steadily. Apparently, putting down the storm windows in the bedroom blocks out the noise. Not a bad thing, but it left me feeling ill-prepared and a bit miffed.
Except ... the dog refused to go outside. He walked onto the porch and considered his options. I squinted into the backyard to assess the muddiness factor. It had surpassed mud--the middle of the yard was a lake of standing water, surrounded by many smaller lakes throughout. It didn't look appealing.
Beckett agreed. Instead of launching himself off the porch and straight into the yard (he disdains the wasted time of steps), he stood under the covered porch and considered his options for a minute or two. I stood at the door, watching him watch the rain. He looked back at me. I opened the door and he raced back inside and straight up to bed.
Hurray! I figure if the dog doesn't even want to be outside, really no one should. It was great to go back to bed and snuggle under the covers for a half-hour longer. Although I suppose it's too much to hope for the same outcome at 5:30 Monday morning.