We have a routine around here, well, kinda, sorta.
Everyday without fail, I go home at lunch to let the dogs out. Pete always goes out with the first group. Once they are outside, I run in and fix my lunch and then let them in. Everybody was standing at the door. Except Pete. I always panic first and think logically second.
It’s been too hot here lately and we have a baby pool near the door filled with fresh, cool water. I should have looked there first.
Instead I called out for him.
Arising from the pool, dripping wet, Pete came running. Of course, because I was letting then in, all of the doors were open and Pete made a mad dash in the house and upstairs to his favorite cushion.
And then I wonder why the house smells like a wet dog.