When I woke up this morning and saw the sun, I nearly cried from joy. Well, relief, actually. And it’s not just because I felt as though mold was beginning to grow on my brain from the unrelieving gray, wet weather we’ve been experiencing lately, it is also because I can finally take Rilian out for a proper walk.
Dogs, as we all know, are creatures who need to exercise to retain health and fitness. People are, as well. But, dogs (unless they are quite small or incredibly well trained) need to go outside to go. You know what I mean.
I am always prepared to take my dog out for a go. And I mean prepared. I recently embarrassed myself by meeting a new person and when I took my right hand out of my pocket to shake hands, I had to put it right back in to get rid of an unused dog bag. I think my hand has been trained since I’ve had a dog to assume that if it goes into a jacket pocket it’s to fetch a bag.
But Rilian has a bladder problem — not a medical one. It’s more of an emotional condition. Or it’s hard-wired into his being. When it’s raining, he won’t go out to pee.
Ordinarily, my dog is the most loving, obedient canine companion a person could hope for. He’s adorable (see pictures) and he’s affectionate. When I come home after being out of the house for more than five minutes, I am greeted as if I’ve been gone for days. And if I’ve been gone for days (a rare occurrence) Rilian is beside himself with happiness. He leaps and twists with joy. And when I bend down to pat him, he licks my earlobe and wags his tail so hard that the papers on the kitchen table start ruffling as if trying to launch.
When we get ready to go out for a walk, he is usually the merriest dog in the world. He dances around once I pick up the leash. He wriggles as I snap on his collar. He sits in front of the door with a doggy smile and his tail beating out a metronomic, “Hur-ry Up! Hur-ry Up!” until we go.
Unless it’s raining. If it’s a rainy day, none of these things happen. I may be able to persuade him to go out on the porch, but then he whines until I let him back in.
Rilian has always been this way.
When he was a puppy and refused to go out one day, I took him to the vet, who explained to me that it wasn’t a “hate the rain” issue, it was a “hate the sound of the rain” issue.
“June, you love the sound of the rain, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Imagine it amplified 100 times — until it’s actually uncomfortable to hear. That’s what your dog hears. And it’s probably particularly hard for Rilian, because you told me that after the rescue agency picked him up, he was fostered on a farm. The sound of the rain would not have been a problem because it would have been absorbed into the ground. But now he’s a city dog. That noise — which he grew up hearing as gentle and soft — must seem overwhelming. Trust me, there’s nothing wrong with him. He just hates that noise.”
So, I observed.
When there was a drizzle, or a very gentle rain, he was okay with going out. But once the rain started pinging on the tar, my obedient dog would turn into a small donkey. Stubborn beyond belief. One day, when it had been raining from 5 a.m. to 6 p.m. and his water bowl was untouched, I put him on his lead and dragged him down the back steps. He backed himself into the smallest possible spot and stood in the rain for at least five minutes, sadly relieving himself. As soon as he was done, he bounded up the steps, ran into the kitchen and drained his water bowl.
So this past week has been challenging. This morning, though, all was well. He bounded around the yard, and promptly found a piece of dead something, and gulped it down as Lucy scolded him.
All’s right in my world.
You can reach June Lemen at junelemen18@gmail.com
