That Old Wet Dog Feeling

Tired of that old wet dog feeling,

hate the way my fur mats down in the rain.

Loathe the way my howls are muted by thunder,

and the lightning just alights my disdain.

 

Tired of my paws aching,

From paths I’ve walked before.

Tired of no packs taking,

When I’m scratching at their doors.

Rainy Days

This post is part of the Absolute Write’s March Blog Chain, which was given the prompt: Rainy Days. Please see the links below the body of this post for the other blogs that contributed to this month’s chain.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

The dog refused to go potty.

This was a problem as it was pouring rain, windy and cold.

Alex pulled up the collar of his jacket against the wind and gave a little tug on the dog’s leash.

“Come on you dizzy dog, we have to go in, I’m freezing.”

But the Yellow lab sat down in the damp grass, staring up at his master with her ‘puppy dog’ eyes, then resumed  staring across the field towards the abandoned farmhouse and the highway beyond. Somewhere high above and off to the West, a low and ominous rumble of thunder rolled across the fields next to Alex’s house, pressing the matter.