Cooper is the most happiest when I say the magic words and pick up the leash and off we go for "walkers." Cold, he doesn't care. Heat, whatever. (Seriously, when it's 95 outside I try to discourage him from walking but he does not buy into my blistering comments about the sidewalk being too hot for his delicate paws, etc. Sigh.)
However, when it's raining, all bets are off. Yes, he has a little raincoat but it does not cover his face and ears. Thus, his head gets wet. And his legs and his belly. Cooper is not a water dog. He is not a retriever, he is not a fetching-of- ducks-in-swamps kind of dog. He has very little fur and therefore he gets cold when wet. It's no wonder he does not like the rain.
This evening I got home from work around 5:45. Cooper had been home alone since 8:30 and he was very happy to see me. We went for a nice walk, he peed, pooped and sniffed. (It was not raining at that time.) Upon our return he had dinner. He was happy. We sat on the small couch and I read and he snuggled and slept some more, which is probably what he did all day, but hey, whatever. All was well until about 10:00 when I decided it was time for him to go out and have our last walk around the block for the last pee and poop. We started walking and about 45 seconds into the walk it began to rain buckets. Cooper stopped, walked over to the nearest tree, peed for about ten seconds and then turned around to come home. No tugging on the leash could turn him around, he was done with his functions for the night. Rain = forgetaboutit.
I know, this is a stupid essay about my dog, and really, who cares? But there you have it.
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