Sometimes, though not often, in your darkest hour, life takes pity for a moment.
This is not a post about board games. I pray my loyal readership of 2 to indulge me.This is a post about a small, wonderful thing. It is cold and raining on this May morning in North Carolina, and this desert transplant couldn’t be more pleased. The dog had to go out to go potty after his breakfast, and my husband, who hates the rain, begged me to go. Freddy takes after his dad, so I wasn’t sure we’d even make it out of the breezeway before he noped back toward the house. I knew it would be quick, either way. I got dressed, didn’t even bother with a bra. We went.
And we went. He was timid, at first, but then he stepped into the rain. He did his necessities, and I started to turn for home, but he kept on. So I followed. After 10 minutes, the heavy mist had turned to full rain, enough that I had to admit it was unwise to keep my phone out to read the morning’s news. I put it away.
And we went. He just kept walking, and we both got wetter and wetter, and my spirits lifted. Eventually, after sniffing the evidence of some inconsiderate dog parent who doesn’t scoop, we reached a particular moment that told Freddy it was time to head home. He turned around, and I followed. It wasn’t the determined, ears-back charge for home and safety that he often does in the rain or cold. It was the same easy amble we’d been enjoying. We got home, I dried him off as much as I could, and set him loose. He promptly ran in and leapt on his dad to tell him all about it.
To tell him about how, when I needed it, he decided to take me for a walk in the rain.