God Willing and the Creek Don't Rise

Muzzy and I braved Dog Park yesterday, during a brief break in the rains brought to us courtesy of Tropical Storm Hermine. At home, we peeked out the windows and saw light gray skies in the west and thought we'd be safe. When we turned east in the car, though, the sky was black. We pressed on, hoping the rain would hold off, but we had no sooner pulled into the parking lot, then the skies released another barrage. Another devoted Parker was just loading up his dogs, prancing around in the puddles, trying to haul each of three soggy pooches into the hatchback before he got completely soaked. We sat in our car for about ten minutes, lulled by the soothing rhythms of the downpour, the rain scalloping down the windshield. At the first let-up, we hopped out, but the break was only momentary.

I have never seen Dog Park so drenched. The fields that last week were like trampled straw and pocked with cavernous cracks  had become marshy wetlands. Muzzy's every step kicked up a plume of water. She blinked her eyes against the spray and looked annoyed. Beneath the pecan trees, we got drenched just from run-off. We made our way across the field, ankle deep in water. Rain was sluicing down the slope behind us, torrents of water eddying around our feet. We were soaked in under a minute. Fortunately, Muzzy knew that this trip was all about getting her business done. Once her mission was complete--and nearly washed away in the tide, we got back in the car and drove home through yet another cloudburst.  It was all pretty exciting. If I didn't have a dog, I'd have missed that little adventure. -z