A Will of Iron and a Bladder to Match

It's been raining pretty heavily here the past couple of days. Steadily, the water has filled the massive depressions in our driveway, not letting up even for an hour. It has periodically turned to wet snow and a mixture of shmang that melts when it lands on the deck. I would describe it as generally unpleasant. I'm not complaining, though; days of steady rain, even when it comes in torrents as it did this morning, are definitely better than days of continual, heavy snowfall. I'm sure those in the UK, who are currently experiencing the most recent onslaught of winter's wonderland, would agree. But it's during days like these, when the rain refuses to let up, that Skippy's stubborn, Jack Russell determination outweighs her physiological need to urinate.

She will hold off as long as possible, before letting us know that an accident on the floor is imminent. I opened the door for her last night and she slowly walked out onto the porch before stopping, looking behind her to see if I'm watching, then turn back to the stairs before her. The rain continued to pour. I opened the door and told her go down the stairs. These words are familiar to her. She almost expects them now after years of repetition; in fact we often need to prompt her in dry weather as well or she waits at the top, hoping for the instructions she is now so used to hearing.

It's with good reason that I now wait and watch to see what she'll do. Many times I've seen her pee right outside the door on the deck because she didn't want to get wet. I've also seen her walk down the stairs, after being inside all day, then turn around, walk back up the stairs to the door and start barking to be let in. I send her down once more. She goes down the stairs. This time she waits at the bottom for about ten seconds (don't forget it's still pouring out), then comes back up the stairs when she feels enough time has passed. We play this game a few more times before she realizes that I'm not going to let her win, and she finally pees. It has been three minutes in a cold rain storm and she's soaked and shivering.

So let me see if I understand this, Skippy: by your own choice you haven't urinated in eight hours and now you're perfectly willing to come back inside and possibly hold off for what—another eight? And not only are you determined to do this, but you are so determined that you'll spend an extra two minutes in the very rain you've been avoiding, just so you won't have to be out in that rain while peeing. Sure thing, weirdo.