My day has gotten off to a great start--rain, puddles of water 2 inches deep in the backyard, and I have to get the dog in because it wasn't raining when John put her on the tie-out after her morning walk. This is part of the morning ritual so she can play a little and bark at squirrels, weather permitting. In good weather, she gets to stay out all day. On days like this, I get the honor of bringing Miss Dixie back into the shelter of her kennel in the garage before the weather gets nasty. Remember, she's an inveterate chewer and cannot be left unrestrained. This is supposed to
improve with age, but I'm thinking it must mean
increase rather than
decrease.
I'd had to leave the house earlier on an errand before it really started raining. By the time I'm back home, it's
raining, so I head out back to retrieve the retriever. Trying to avoid the puddles, I manage to step in the muddy hole she's dug at the edge of the patio, slip, fall on my backside, and slide across the concrete, right into the Delighted Dixie.
I can't get up because I have 85 pounds of gloriously happy, wet, muddy Labrador all over me. The wet concrete patio is slick and she's not doing anything to make it easy for me to get up. Each time I almost get my footing, I either slip on the muddy concrete or get knocked back down by the dog. She's just so happy that I have come to play with her in the rain that you can forget any obedience training she's had. Forget "Sit!" Forget "Down!" Forget "No!" Even pushing her and yelling, "Get off me, dammit!" didn't help. Finally getting free of her, I manage to get up and get her into the garage.
Muddy clothes are now in the washer; I'm sore, scraped, have been pawed and licked from head to toe by a wet, muddy Dixie; and I'm not a happy camper. I'm getting in the shower, then taking about 800 mg of ibuprofen, and lying down to take a long winter's nap.
Do Not Disturb.