It’s Monday, at about 5 a.m. Outside, the rain is pelting down. It’s a cold rain, driven by a cold wind. The streets are slick with now-saturated leaves waiting to be picked up. The dogs don’t want to be outside, and I can’t say that I blame them. They keep stopping dead in their tracks and looking at me stubbornly, or pulling the leash hard for home — but their work must first be done.
When we finally get back home my pant legs are soaked, and I am treated to the sharp odor of wet dog as I towel them off and hope to avoid the spray of debris across the kitchen floor when they shake off the remaining water.
It’s not the best way to start the work week.