He hates rainy mornings.
I open the kennel and he stretches and heads for the door but stops on the threshold, looks out at the wet and turns back inside.
And the rest of the morning he mopes, following me across the room or licking his feet incessantly, noisily, until I think I’m going to to crazy.
Eventually he curls up on the rug under the coffee table and goes to sleep.
I think he knows, when he first looks out the door, that a walk will not be happening anytime soon.
I, on the other hand, love the cool air that flows in the open windows and doors and sound of bird songs over the soft rain. The baby sleeps late and I sit in the quiet and write and I wish I could tell the dog: Rainy mornings are good.