This morning was an train wreck. Having withheld precipitation from us for pretty much the entire summer, God and/or Al Gore decided to make up for lost time with this one single storm. And boy did it rain. A lot. As in “epic flood proportions.” I was two seconds away from building that arc. I just hadn’t had my coffee yet. Tough call.

The Wife™ and I are heading to the cabin in the woods for a few days of drunken XBox playing relaxation and to enjoy the little bit of autumn weather we can find. That being said, we had to get up a wee bit earlier this morning in order to get some stuff done. This, to Jonas, translates to OMG! EXTRA CRAZY-GO-NUTS PLAYTIME. Boy was he surprised when he saw what was going on outside.

All we needed was for him to run outside and pee like the little wuss dog that he is (he still hasn’t learned to lift his leg like *real* dude dogs should). The problem was, the second we opened the door and he heard the deafening roar of the rain hitting the deck, he looked up at us like, “Yea, right. This is SO not going to happen the way you think it is.” So in the interest of expediency (and after a few trial deliberations), we tossed his furry ass out the door.

We must have looked like complete idiots standing at the kitchen window, pounding our fists and screaming, “GO POTTY! GO POTTY!” over and over. There’s a solid chance I have a straight jacket waiting for me when I get home, assuming the neighbors witnessed this spectacular display of lunacy. See, once we got him out the door, the problem quickly became that he thought it was Crazy-Go-Nuts Fun Time. He was running in circles around the deck. He was sprinting down the steps (through a mud pit), running around the yard, and sprinting back to the door (through that same mud pit, for good measure), all while forgetting the one thing that we humans were ranting about inside. I’m willing to bet my savings account that he knew exactly what he was doing, and that this was a defiant act of retribution for making him go to the kennel (or “Summer Camp” as he knows it) for the weekend.

After much spirited cajoling and almost shattering the windows with our fist pounding, he finally scored a touchdown and came inside to a sea of towels. Laying on his side, absolutely drenched, he just looked up at us while we did the “Please Don’t Get Mud On My Dress Clothes, Damnit!” dance around him. And I swear, if this dog could talk, at that moment he was saying, “This? Think about this moment when you leave me at Camp for four days. Prick.” And then he planted his back foot on my pants.

I’ve never seen a bigger smile on his face.