Tobie’s faith in my management skills is shattered.

If I can’t control the weather, what good am I*?

It’s walkie time! Tobie and Uncle Joel have had their breakfast, and now it’s walkie time! And what are we doing?

We’re sitting indoors not going walkie, that’s what. Because it’s raining. It could rain any other time of the day, couldn’t it? But no. It’s raining at walkie time. And we all know who’s responsible for that. As we sit here Tobie is making no effort to hide his impatience with my mismanagement.

In fairness I probably object to walking in the rain more than Tobie does. Unless there’s thunder, in which case we are in agreement that it’s a bad idea with Tobie’s opinion probably substantially stronger than mine. Tobie doesn’t object to rain, it brings out all the interesting scents. But Uncle Joel has lived in an arid desert for eighteen years, and is convinced he’ll melt like sugar if he steps out from under a roof in the rain.

If it doesn’t stop soon I’ll need to suck it up and put on my rain gear because the morning walkie serves at least one very important practical function that can only be delayed so long after breakfast.

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*Other than my possession of opposable thumbs which allows me to manipulate food bags and can openers, of course…