Dog Stuff

While getting dressed on Monday morning, I noticed that my nails, which I have of late begun to have did, matched my sweater. This was inadvertent - the level of stability and success I'd have to achieve in order to match my nails to my clothing every day of the week is to me not only unfathomable, but actually undesirable - but pleasing.

In less fashion-forward news, the rain is back. That might seem like it goes without saying, this being Seattle and all, but naw, friends, we were having some pretty - dare I say it?! DARE I?! I'M GONNA DARE - springlike weather there for a few consecutive days. That all got flushed down the great February Toilet today, though, as I got to walk dogs in the kind of frigid drizzle that makes every pet caretaker wish their ancestors had never domesticated the damn things to begin with.

You can't rush a dog. Some dogs genuinely don't want to be out in the rain, and they're your best friends in weather like this. They hold their bladder just until they feel the first touch of damp grass on their delicate toes, then void it post-haste and drag you back inside like tiny, hairy, smelly locomotives. You don't have to rush these dogs, they rush themselves. The hardier canines, though, the altogether more Pacific Northwestern of latchkey pets, they know that this is their one real outing for the day, and they will be monkey's uncles if they're going to waste it. They splash along determinedly through the muck, demanding a full investigation of no fewer telephone poles, large rocks, and enticing piles of dirt than would be warranted in better weather. They are single-mindedly committed to the pursuit not only of bathroom necessities, but of that much more mysterious, yet equally vital component of the canine day, the esoteric accomplishment I, a consummate pet professional, have come to term... "dog stuff."

Tonight's dog stuff is behind us, to the relief of all. Now, I get to do yoga and listen to history lectures, while A & N gaze at me from the couch with curiosity, wondering why my own dog stuff seems to involve so much sitting at the kitchen table and so little peeing on things.