Dog Days of Summer

No, not what you think. THIS blog is the way the dog days of summer are looking in Florida this year…from Bruno’s point of view. I think.

Something hits the den hard. Attack! The top of the den is collapsing! Then water slides down the see-through places. It’s just more rain. Up, humans! Okay, so maybe this wasn’t an attack, but don’t you hear anything?

Human Mom sits up in her bed really fast. Good! She should have walked me an hour ago, even though it’s still pretty dark. I gotta go!

H.M. (Human Mom) says, “You gotta go, puppy?”

Duh. I just said that. I mean, why else am I contorting my body so that every possible bit is pressed up against the door of your special den? By the way, when can I finally sleep in the special den?

H.M. says, “It’s coming down too hard. I’m gonna shower first, puppy. Hang in there.”

Wait, what?!?!?! You do know that I can’t actually cross my legs, right? And you’re going to go into the inside rain? Why, for the love of kibble? There’s rain OUTSIDE.

I have to admit, the rain changes while she’s getting wet inside—it’s more like the boy pouring the water can on me than the time I accidentally walked in front of the hose.

“Hang in there, puppy. You’re doing great. Let me get ready.”

I know how this goes…she puts on the slick fur that makes water drip off. I put on my leash. She puts on her foot covers. We get the sacred receptacle for my offerings—she always calls them “poop bags” for some reason. This time we get the giant stick that turns into a mushroom. It keeps her head out of the rain, but I don’t see why, since her hair is still wet. And the water always slides off the mushroom thingy onto me.

“Okay. All ready? Good job! Here we go!” She finally opens the door.

Yeah, here we go all right—just watch me go! So I post a comment on the neighbors’ grass. That’s the only good thing about the rain. Normally I’m not allowed to pee there. I mean, what’s the point in peeing on your own grass?

“C’mon. Let’s get back inside!” H.M. doesn’t look happy.

I don’t know what’s bugging her—I’m the one getting all the extra water from the mushroom thingy all over my back!

Finally, we‘re safe, nice and cozy between the car and garage wall. Time to shake!

“Oh, Bruno! Do you HAVE to? There’s a towel ten steps away!”

Oops. Yeah, she hates it when I shake next to her, especially after she goes into the inside rain—the shower thing. I don’t know why she doesn’t just shake off, too. It works for me!

But the towel…Oh yeah, man. Why do I always forget the towel? That thing is awesome. Just not—hey! not my feet. Off the feet. Not that one either. All four? Are you insane, woman?

And then she makes me breakfast, which is cool—she’s good like that—but if she thinks I’m going to eat while all that water’s attacking, she’s got another think coming. Nobody appreciates how hard I work to guard this den.


Well, that was a short, stupid walk, but there’s probably no good pee-mail today anyway.

I hope H.M. knows we’re going to have to take a solid walk soon. And by solid, I mean…well, she’s gonna need those sacred receptacles.