It must already be too cold outside for our dog, Max. He has taken to howling mournfully to be let back into the house as soon as he finishes doing whatever business he has in the back yard.
He sounds like a coyote or a fire-truck siren, depending on the urgency of his desire to be readmitted. Maybe I can add a sound wave to this post. You’d have to hear it to truly appreciate how pathetic he sounds. By the way, according to our thermometer, it’s 72 degrees outside. I can’t imagine how painfully dramatic he’s going to act when it actually gets cold here.
He’s going on 101 in dog years, so maybe 72 degrees feels pretty cold to his old bones. I let him in as quickly as possible, but man he sure can wail. Snap. Snap. Maybe he just needs an audience of beatniks to appreciate what he’s laying down. I’m donning my beret and ironing my hair. Let’s get naked and smoke….