Biscuits for Bravery

The little dachshund races to the edge of the deck and leaps off in a graceful swan dive then runs madly for the back fence. He's the least bothered by wet weather and the rain slows him not one bit. The small brown dog, less enthusiastic but resigned to her fate, follows and heads immediately for cover under the shrubs. Only the tiny one remains behind, looking thoroughly miserable and timid. When I reach for him, he immediately cowers and goes into panic mode. I ignore this, abandon my umbrella, and deposit him firmly on the wet grass where he freezes and starts to shiver and whine. I don't know whether to laugh or cry at this pitiful display.

“It's only rain,” I tell him sternly, “You won't melt, now go pee.”

It doesn't work, of course, and I can't stand to watch him so unhappy so I snatch the umbrella back, pick him up and carry him to the shelter of the trees. It takes several minutes but he finally hikes one tiny little leg and when he's done, runs like a wind up toy back to the deck. Once inside, I give everybody a quick towel off and a biscuit and miraculously, all is forgiven.

Wet, but forgiven. I try not to think about the fact that this particular rain is the outer edge of a hurricane and we will likely have to repeat this process several times in the next day or so.

By noon, it's coming down hard and steady and to no one's surprise, we're under a flash flood warning. All the coaxing in the world has no effect on the work dogs - when I try and lead them outside, all four of them look at me as if I've lost my mind and scatter like bedbugs - Michael shrugs and offers no help and I'm not inclined to get any wetter than necessary so I leave them to him. I'm late getting away and when I get home, all of mine scurry outside despite the rain.  Each earns an extra biscuit for bravery.

Unlike the biblical destruction next door in Texas, the storm mostly breezes past us and the flood waters recede quickly.  Nature has seen fit to spare us this time around and I am profoundly grateful.  The sun is out the very next day and as I make the trip to Walmart to buy disaster relief supplies to donate to the animal shelters in Houston,  the world seems a shade or two brighter.  It's not enough but it's a start.