The Wet Dog

As Molly has gotten older, she has become less inclined to outside in the rain. It has gotten to the point where she has flat out refused to go out in the rain. We will get to the top of the steps and she will look out at the rain and turn around and go straight back to my apartment door. The funny thing about that is that if I do get her outside in a slight drizzle, she will be more than happy to dig through an acre of mud if she even smells a hint of a mole or some other underground varmint. The claws will be digging, the mud will be flying, and her nose will be buried in the mud hole up to her eyeballs. To paraphrase the words of Clint Eastwood, I guess a dog has to have its priorities.