Why Are You Wet?

Hurricane Sally did a number on us this week. We are lucky, of course, to be four hours inland, and not near the Gulf Coast (some of our Mississippi and Louisiana friends weren’t so lucky) we’ve just had a ton of rain. So much in fact that I’ve been running around screaming, “Why are you all wet, you assholes?!” To the dogs, naturally.

And in true Duke and Winnie fashion, they refuse to answer me, instead they jump on top of my couch and roll around, or jump in my bed and roll around, or jump on top of me and roll around. Why is there always so much rolling with the wetness?

Then, you know what, go ahead and add the mud to that. They’ve been digging, if you recall the “Remains” story from the other day, and digging in wet dirt is called digging in mud. Which apparently they are both big fans of.

All of this to say, that the dogs are still alive. I haven’t killed them. We are safe from storms. And my whole house reeks of wet dog.

How’s your week?

M.

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