"D" is for Disobedient

I said, not long after Darwin joined our family, that I was going to have one heck of a time keeping him out of the pool in the summer. However, with the simple precaution of escorting the dogs clear through the pool area and out into the back yard, then gating them there, we hadn't had any real problems.

Until now.

I think I set the ball in motion last night, by simply being distracted (and hungry) for a few minutes. I came home, and Tom said I should probably put the dogs out in the yard before I ate, because he'd been working out in the yard with the gate open, and they hadn't been out for a while. I escorted the three younger hounds out, but before closing the gate I thought I should grab the water bowl we keep out there and fill it from the hose, because after Darwin does a few laps at his fence he is pretty pant-y. I took the bowl inside the pool area, where I thought the hose was turned on, but when I attempted to turn the knob on the nozzle, I learned it was off. Meh, no big deal. I won't be leaving them out there long. Supper beckoned, and I came back inside.

About ten minutes later, as I was sitting on the Sofur with my half-eaten food, I heard the sound of paws thudding up the deck stairs. I looked over the back of the Sofur toward the sliding glass doors and saw Ozark waiting at the door like a Very Good Dog, waiting to come inside. I didn't expect to see Brody there, because he stays in the yard, finding excuses to bark at stuff, until you issue numerous high-decibel requests for his immediate presence.

I got up to let Ozark in, having the fleeting thought, "Oh, good, I don't have to trudge down the steps to the gate!"

Wait a minute. Why don't I have to open the gate? Ozark didn't open it. Which means...

I never closed it. I quick mental replay of the sequence of events corroborated this fact. Which means...

Where is Darwin? Not on the deck. Hmm, not in the pool, either. Whew. But every inch of cement within four feet of the pool is dark with puddles. Which means...

Darwin decided to go for a swim, absorbed roughly 963 gallons of water, then ran laps around the perimeter of the pool in celebration. But he's not there now. Which means...

He's out running laps along the fence in his doggie motocross course. While soaking wet. Wet, drippy dog plus exposed dirt racetrack equals... the summer variation of Bog Dog.

Sigh. Yep, there he was. And I couldn't even be mad at him, because I was the idiot who left the gate open.

Fast forward to about an hour ago. I put the dogs out in the yard. I shut the gate. I later went down to the gate to let the dogs in. Up until now, opening the gate sent all three dogs galloping neck and neck around the deck, up the steps, straight to the sliding glass door. Upon coming in the house, Darwin routinely plops right down on the air conditioning vent in the floor for a while, before heading to the Big Dog Platinum Drinkwell for a gallon or two of refreshment.

Not today. Today, Mr. Darwin Dog felt he needed (read: "was entitled to") another dip in the pool. Even with me mere feet behind him, yelling, "DARWIN!!!!! NOOOOOOOO! AH-AH-AH-AH-AH!!!!!!" (That last part is my Very Angry, Don't Even Think of Disobeying Me, Scary Dog-Mom War Cry. It did not work.) Down the pool steps and into the water goes Suddenly Deaf Dog. Even with me looming over him and yelling my head off as he had a leisurely paddle around the shallow end, enjoying a slurp or two of pool water, he was not in the least bit disturbed. Finally, he deigned to exit his pool ("Oh? I'm sorry; were you speaking to me?") and allowed himself to be escorted into the house and rubbed vigorously head to toe with a beach towel. Then he plopped down on the air conditioner vent. I went to clean dried water spots off my glasses.

As is always the case, he's way too adorable for me to stay furious.

(Mug Shot: Damp, Disobedient Darwin Dog, fka "Mister Cutey Pants")

Hey, I know yesterday was my fault. I didn't close the gate. I'm at a bit of a loss how to get him back in here when I do close the gate, and he simply out-sprints me to the pool. He is, after all, a furry golden speeding bullet. Perhaps we'll try our old trick of floating a raft in the step area. Except he will probably just cannonball off the diving board if his initial entry point is unavailable.

Best thing for my blood pressure is to just decide I don't care. And keep a beach towel just inside the door. Maybe two.

He is really cute. And I'm an enabler.