Water Dog
Smell the Coffee” column from the Sunday, Oct. 16, 2005 Sunday Gazette-Mail:
It’s said that into each life, some rain must fall. It’s a pretty simple concept to grasp. Except for my dog. To Murry, the only acceptable liquids are those confined to his water bowl. Any dampness beyond that is repulsive, especially when it patters down from the sky.
I recently awakened to a hard, steady rain, the kind that tempts me to open the window a few inches, then crawl back into bed and let it lull me to sleep. But I noticed Murry was standing cross-legged and nervous in my doorway, so I forced myself up. I headed for the back porch with my pooch close at my heels.
Murry didn’t realize it was raining until I opened the door, then he backed away quickly, apparently fearing the evil human might force a moistening upon him. I chose not to take offense with his low opinion of me and closed the door. 
Murry bounded a few steps in front of me, still doing what I’ve come to recognize as his full bladder dance, as I headed toward the front of the house. He bounced right up to the front door, then posed there, looking joyously first at the doorknob, then back at me. I opened the door.
I believe the word “crestfallen” would best describe Murry’s expression when he realized that–dagnabbit–it was raining there, too.
I’m not sure how Murry has come to be so disgusted by water. I mean, aside from the time he learned the hard way that dogs can’t float on their backs, and aside from that one water-related incident with the groomer (the one who didn’t charge us, so long as we promised to never come back). But aside from that, Murry’s never had a traumatic water experience I can think of.
Certainly not like a dog my aunt Wilma was telling me about recently. Now that dog has a reason to hate water. His owners do, too.
It seems that their dog, a super-sized black lab named Ben, was more fond of drinking from the big, white porcelain water bowl (the one with the silver handle) than he was of his regular bucket. Although Ben’s owners took care to put the lid down, Ben was a strong and determined creature who soon learned how to root open the lid with his nose. The family believes that’s what Ben was likely attempting to do when he accidentally bumped shut the door, trapping himself in a tiny, second floor bathroom while no humans were home.
So displeased was big Ben by his captivity that he began tearing at the door, clawing at the fixtures, breaking loose the flimsy shut-off valve beside the commode. Water soon covered the floor.
Now before all you dog lovers out there start worrying that I’m going to tell of a drowning, remember that Ben is a lab. A true water dog. He was in his element. Unscathed.
The house wasn’t so lucky.
For the next six or so hours, water poured from those broken pipes, ran down the wall, caved in a ceiling, thoroughly saturating the carpets and hardwood flooring below. So thoroughly saturated was that flooring from the hours of flooding that the weight prompted the house to shift on its foundation.
The insurance appraiser said if there was an award to be given for the most damage caused by a non-bite related dog incident, this would have to be it.
Needless to say, the owners weren’t too happy with Ben. His actions put him in the dog house–literally. But I doubt being outside bothers Ben all that much. Unlike my Murry, big Ben likes rain.
