White Feet

My dog is very proud. He grooms himself excessively, especially the white on his chest and paws. He doesn't like going outside when it's wet. I have to force him to go down the back stairs and into the side yard to "go potty." He will go down a few steps and look back woefully at me as if to say, "Do I HAVE to?" I yell "GO" and he will, ever so slowly, descend into the yard. Then he will stop on the concrete pad at the bottom of the stairs and tentatively touch the dirt. He reaches out again, uncertain what to do. Then he lifts his leg on the fence post and runs back up the stairs.

There is a wilder, more daring dog that emerges when we go to my parents' farm. We load the dogs into the bed of the pickup truck and drive down the hill from the house to the barn. Before we even come to a stop he is flying out of the back of the truck. He yips joyfully as he hits the ground in full stride and circles around in clouds of dust. He tears through the paddocks and puddles. He skids to a stop to savor fresh manure then dashes off to the creek. He splashes around the edge of the pond, not actually plunging into the water. This is fine by me because I'm not certain about the snapping turtles or whatever else lurks beneath the dark surface.

At the end of the day his paws are pink from the Alabama red clay. He is dirty and stinky and delightfully exhausted. Country Dog has earned his rest. But as soon as we are back home, City Dog will give me a reproachful look the next time I insist he go outside to potty in the rain. Doesn't want to get his white feet wet.