It
wasn't 'specially cold, wasn't even raining 'specially hard and two
of the three dogs headed out the back door without hesitation. The
tiny one, however, took one look at the raindrops splashing on the
wooden deck and scurried off like a wounded crab. I caught him in
three steps,
carried
him outside and deposited him on the damp grass under the shelter of
the shrubbery. The look he gave me was part apprehension, part
bewilderment and part betrayal.
“Seriously,”
I told him firmly as I tried not to laugh, “You won't melt.”
The
look changed to indignation when a raindrop landed on his head and
startled him. He jumped a little then shook it off and took a few
small, tentative steps sideways. All I could think of was Harry
Potter in the maze but without Harry's courage. Another raindrop
landed, closer to his hindquarters this time, and he shivered
miserably. While the small brown dog and the little dachshund
watched - in amusement, I had to wonder - I brushed the branches and
shrubs away and re-located him to a mound of pinestraw. This seemed
to reassure him and he nosed about for several minutes then finally
hiked one tiny leg and did what had to be done.
“What
a good boy!” I told him when he trotted back and made a hasty run
for the back door.
Safely
back in the house and only a little damp from his adventure, he
immediately regrouped and reclaimed his un-timid inside self,
snatching a treat from my outstretched hand, unleashing a Wagnerian
chorus of barking at the cats and tearing after the youngest at full
speed.
Twenty
minutes later, he's laid out fast asleep and snoring like a freight
train. Little dogs rule.
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