Dog meets rain, dog hates rain

CRITTER TAIL



GIMME SHELTER—The dog who met and hated rain weathered the experience and is relaxing high and dry, ready for the holidays. Courtesy of Jacqueline Tobin

GIMME SHELTER—The dog who met and hated rain weathered the experience and is relaxing high and dry, ready for the holidays. Courtesy of Jacqueline Tobin

Adopting a dog from the animal shelter can be risky business, akin to impulsively marrying a blind date and hoping for the best. Unless you’re adopting a puppy, there’s usually no way of knowing an animal’s true history.

I’m now into one clueless year with the older dog I adopted from the Agoura Animal Care Center, and everything’s a surprise with her, such as our initial outing in inclement weather.

Actually, the attempt was made during a lull in the recent whopper rainstorm that struck our Newbury Park neighborhood.

We were mere steps from the house when the weather took a 180-degree turn, and we became a dartboard for needle-sharp raindrops. I dropped my keys, and a rushing stream of water swept them away. In attempting to bolt after them I came to a startled standstill because the terrified dog had leaped up on her hind legs to cling to my thigh as if it was a tree trunk to anchor her in place.

Raindrops were slamming into her eyes, which seemed to greatly bother her. She released her grip on my leg, did an about-face and charged back toward the house. I made a lucky dive for my keys and raced after her.

The dog scrabbled madly at the front door then at the bedroom door. Once inside, she frantically burrowed under the covers, creating a shivering mound of damp dog fur. She refused to budge for the next six hours except to peep out from under the bedspread to shoot me the stink eye whenever I suggested we try again.

Dog meets rain, dog hates rain. This was news to me.

By late afternoon I suspected her bladder must be ready to burst, and the sun was out. We drove to the Dos Vientos neighborhood for a stroll on the landscaped walking path along Lynn Road. We were fine for several blocks then a “front” materialized and nailed us big time.

The wind blew my umbrella inside out. I’d dressed the dog in a sweater for warmth, and this sagged from her shoulders to drag on the ground. Puddles were as wide and deep as the English Channel. Motorists along that stretch of Lynn Road believe the speed limit is 125 mph. Their tires sprayed us with tsunami force. I was drenched, terrified, miserable and nearly blinded by the onslaught of rain.

I fumbled to pick up the dog. As I did so, she licked rainwater funneling from my eyebrows, and I was able to look at her. She did not appear troubled at all. I put her down, straightened out the umbrella and shielded her as best I could. She walked gamely, without a whimper.

The rain toyed with us, tapering off then blustering back. Through it all the pooch who’d loathed precipitation that morning became a plucky little puddlehopper. As far as canine blind dates go, she’s a keeper.

Glasser is a freelance writer and local nature enthusiast. Reach her at whirlawaygig@gmail.com.