I Accused my Dog of Being Bad

So it rained. And rained. And poured. And rained some more. That much rain on the Friday of a holiday weekend is never a good thing. Trying to get to a wedding in Washington, DC at 6:30 pm on a rainy Friday of a holiday weekend doesn’t make it any better. We finally arrived without too much trauma, and even made it on time (okay, not on time but before the ceremony started). The ceremony was short and very sweet, the food was tasty, the drinks were even tastier, and the company was outstanding.

After attending this very fun wedding and staying up with our guests until the wee hours of the morning, I woke up very early Saturday morning. Too early—6:45 am. I decided to go down to the basement to make sure the corner where the water comes in was still dry. As I walked through the dining room I stepped in something wet and looked down to see a splattering in the center of the floor. Ranger. What the hell!? That damn dog was too lazy to come all the way upstairs and get me. Well, I cleaned it up, took him out, and brought him upstairs so I could go back to sleep. As I lay in bed, I started thinking that it was really raining hard and I had forgotten to go to the basement, so I got up and went down to check it out. Damn if there wasn’t a wet spot in the center of the dining room floor again! Couldn’t be Ranger, he was fast asleep upstairs. I looked up. Water was dripping from the ceiling. My poor dog, so unjustly accused. This time I remembered to check the basement. Water in the usual spot and water in the so-called “dry room”—the room where we happen to be storing all the shit we haven’t bothered to unpack yet. Great. Don’t think I was going to let Adam sleep through all this. We spent the rest of the morning moving boxes into the dry pile and the wet pile, sopping up water, and unpacking the wet boxes. Oh yeah, we have to replace the dinging room ceiling now too, at least when we figure out how the water came in.

I’m starting to think that renting wouldn’t be such a bad idea.