So, it’s raining . . . again. Bella hates the rain. She’d rather pee and poop on the floor than to go out and do it in the rain.
But, she’s not the Queen. I am. So I stand at the back door, clapping my hands and coaxing her off the deck. She gives me this big cow-eyed, go-to-hades look, jumps off the deck, pees like she’s been holding it in for three days then charges back on the deck.
Oh, no! That’s not the way it works, miss wanna be Queen of the castle. You get your prissy butt back out there and poop!
Another, go-to-hades look, and another and another, and jumping on and off the deck like playing a game of tag, she finally finds her spot in the tall, wet grass and poops!
Then, as if being chased by a grizzly bear, she charges back to the deck where I hold the door open praising her as if she had dug up gold in the yard. With a big, fluffy towel, I dry her off, wipe her four big paws, and without even a thanks mom she dashes toward the bedroom, jumps over my husband lying in bed, and plops down demanding him to share his warm, cozy blanket.
She’s such a diva!