In Praise of Slow Dogs

After the thunderstorm last night, Sam was very reluctant to go outside. First, it was damp out there. Second, there had recently been thunder out there. I tried to get him out the back door with no success. Finally, I was able to coax him out the front door. I went about my business for a few minutes, expecting him to be back at the door immediately begging to be let in, but he didn't come to the door.

After a while, I was both curious and a little concerned. I stood at the door and looked for him, but I didn't want to call him because I was hoping he was at long last relieving himself. As I waited, I watched the rain water flowing down one side of the street like a little stream. I noticed the raindrops clinging to the maple tree like bright little decorations and I saw the swelling buds on the tips of the tree. I heard the birds chattering to each other -- a cardinal and a mourning dove and some others I didn't recognize. As I stood there, waiting for Sam, I had a moment of peace.

Finally, I opened the storm door and called him. No answer. I stepped out and looked around the yard. He wasn't there. I walked down the walk anxiously. Jeff had left the garage door open. Mystery solved. Sam had tolerated the wet outdoors just long enough to walk down the front walk, urinated in the garage, and then pushed the back door open and went back into the house through the laundry room. What a wimp! He had been in the house the whole time.

Here is a picture of my little sleeping cat votive candle holder with a votive candle in it. It sits on my desk while I work.