I Think I Blame the Dog

I blame the dog.

It’s not his fault though.

He’s twenty something pounds of pure floppy terror.

I’m told he’s a Shitzu.

Some nights he acts like a poo head.

You may remember the Opossom assault of Aug/September.

Their midnight forays into the neighbors outdoor cat food bowl required a sortie across the fence top.

Gus mustered his ferocity and repealed the attack.

Attacks.

We are safe from Possoms. Though George Jones can still sing on the airwaves, so we are still at auditory risk.

The rain came last night.

It swooped in like an attacking opossum and ushered in colder weather for the annual night of sweet treat begging.

As I opened the door this morning to provide for a pre-dawn constitutional and ablations, Gus stepped out onto the patio and into cold raindrops.

Before I could even shut the door, he scooted back in and gave me a look.

Like it was my fault.

How could I betray his loyalty, his constant overnight vigil to protect me as I slept, his overall floppiness to allow it to rain upon his furry person?!?