The Horror of Wet Paws!

LET ME IN!!!!!!!

The sign that hangs outside our front door.

"Hold still, I have to wipe your paws!" That's the rainy day mantra here at the Newbold residence. Nag, thy name is Marsie. At the first sign of rain, I get a special towel out and drape it over the front door handle. That way I'm armed and ready.

There are only five hard and fast doggie rules at our house. They are:

1. No nipping, biting or growling.
2. Do your "business" outside. No peeing or pooping in the house.
3. No chewing up anything that is not a "chewie" designed for that purpose. (This goes double when it comes to your mother's shoes.)
4. Stay out of the trash cans.
5. Wait to get your paws wiped if they are wet or muddy BEFORE you enter the house.

None of these is negotiable. But reason flies out the window the moment it rains or snows. You see, Nosey  doesn't like to get her paws wet.  (Just like Nipper who came before her.)

But, technically, that's not true. When we are taking walks she makes a beeline for and jumps into every puddle she sees. But for some reason, in her furry little mind, she has decided that walking outside to go to the bathroom and getting the bottom of her feet wet with rain or snow has a decided "yuck" factor. It reminds me of the character "Sheldon" in CBS's "The Big Bang Theory." Nosey has arbitrary "rules" that may not make sense to anybody else, but they can't be broken.

So, Nosey refuses to go outside when it is wet out unless she is literally pushed, and she puts the brakes on. A 60 lb. Basset Hound can make herself dead weight if she wants. A simple thing like going outside to go to the bathroom turns into a BIG production. Between you and me, I suspect she has kidneys made of cast iron and could hold "it" indefinitely. It's one of those things where your mother makes you wear a sweater because she's cold? I make her go when I fear that she'll die of uremic poisoning.

Then, once she's outside she acts as though she's walking on eggshells or hot coals, lifting each paw v-e-r-y-s-l-o-w-l-y. Once she's found the perfect spot and done her business, she comes to the door, then tries to run from me when I try to catch her. Just the sight of the towel makes her start channeling her inner greased pig. Finally, she falls to the ground like one of those protesters you see on tv, who go totally limp in shows of passive resistence.

The things we do for love (and to avoid shampooing the carpet!)