Rain Rain Go Away – And Never Come Back

Hello again, my dear (and hopefully dry) readers. Winston here, your favorite French Bulldog, purveyor of sass, and self-proclaimed king of all things fabulous. Today’s topic? Rain. Or, as I like to call it, the soggy misery that falls from the sky with absolutely no regard for my personal happiness.

You thought I hated snow? Oh no, sweet readers, snow is just the cold, distant cousin of rain. At least snow gives me the illusion of being fun (spoiler alert, it’s not). But rain? Rain just makes everything worse. The smell of wet grass, the dumb idea of “rain jackets for dogs,” the unending drizzle that somehow finds a way to soak you no matter how fast you try to avoid it… it’s all terrible.

Rain doesn’t just ruin my day, it ruins my entire vibe. Do you know how hard it is to look adorable and majestic when your fur is plastered to your body? IMPOSSIBLE. Rain doesn’t care about my personal brand, and that’s reason enough to loathe it.

So, as you can imagine the last couple of rainy days have been an absolute nightmare. It all started with my first step outside—wet paws. If you’ve never experienced the tragedy of wet paws, consider yourself lucky. The moment my delicate toes touched that cold, damp ground, I felt like my entire existence was unraveling. And the puddles? Don’t even get me started. Those tiny ponds of despair were scattered everywhere, just waiting to ruin what was left of my dignity.

But it didn’t stop there. No, things only got worse. After being bribed with treats just to face the horrid outdoors, you’d think I’d earned some respect for my bravery. Instead, I was subjected to the ultimate offense: the post-walk butt wipe. Yes, you heard that right. My humans had the audacity to wipe my paws and my butt like I’m some common pup with no sense of self-respect. The indignity of it all.

By the time the second day of constant rain rolled around, I decided I’d had enough. I staged a full protest under the bed, paws over my eyes and everything. My humans called me dramatic (rude, right?), but I was just trying to survive. I even suggested they build me an indoor potty area—something reasonable and practical, if you ask me. But of course, they dismissed the idea as “ridiculous.” Ridiculous? Ridiculous is expecting me to endure this meteorological abuse, thank you very much.

When I wasn’t hiding, I was perched by the window, glaring out at the rain like it was my sworn enemy. My humans thought it was cute. It wasn’t. It was pure defiance. Every second I spent staring at that endless drizzle was a declaration that I would not be defeated—well, sort of. Deep down, I was absolutely terrified, but they don’t need to know that.

And yes, maybe I shed a tear or two. Maybe I cried just enough to earn myself a few extra treats. Trauma like this deserves compensation, after all. My humans grumbled something about me being spoiled, but honestly? I’d been through a lot. I think I deserved every last treat I suckered them into giving me.

So, now that the rain finally seems to be taking a little break, I’d like to make a formal request to Mother Nature right here, right now. Please, for the love of all things good (like bacon), make the rain stop forever. Or at the very least, make it so it only rains after 9 PM when I’m tucked into bed. It’s the least you can do for a noble pup like me.

Until then, I’ll be under the bed, plotting my revenge against the rain gods and waiting for the sweet, sweet smell of sunshine. If you feel my pain (and I know you do), feel free to join me in rain-hating solidarity. Together, we’ll survive this soggy madness.

Stay dry, stay fabulous,

Winston 🐾