Yeah, so, walking Homer in the rain is the saddest thing ever.
It always starts out the same way. I grab the leash and the barking starts:
“Holy shit! We’re going out! I’m ready to walk! It’s go time! This is not a drill! This is happening! Let’s go, lady!”
Poor Homer. He has no idea that outside it’s yet another one of those storms of the century the local weathermen are always talking about. He thinks it’s beautiful and sunny outside. He’s ready to bark at other dogs and pee on everything. His tail is wagging and his ears are up … until I open the door.
Immediately, the ears drop and the tail stops wagging and falls down. He tries to make a run for it back into the apartment but it’s too late. He’s trapped. Reluctantly, he goes outside.
It is 10 to 15 minutes of pure misery for Homer. There are no other dogs to bark at, and the entire world looks like it’s been peed on. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. He looks at me with his sad eyes. He spends the entire walk hiding under trees and cowering under ledges.
Eventually, when I think he has suffered enough, we go back into the apartment. He dashes in and, of course, instantly starts rolling around on the couch. I wrap him in a towel and dry him off. Luckily, Homer stops blaming me at that point and takes his frustration out on the towel, pulling at it and barking at it.
Obviously, Homer doesn’t give a shit about the water levels and how much California needs the rain. He hates the rain.