Like every puppy who ventures onto the back porch to witness his first Florida downpour, this week Jam made an evolutionary leap to consider whether it might be better to poop inside rather than out. He didn't actually say anything, but you could tell what was in his mind, a careful weighing of his dilemma and then an abrupt about-face back into the house, even though he really needed to go.
So that's when the deception began. I got out the umbrella and carried him to his favorite dry-weather spot, pretending that it was just as good as before. But it wouldn't do--the leaves were soggy and the rain pounded away on all sides. He looked up at me with a disappointed face, knowing me now to be a liar and hypocrite, as if to say to me, "Why don't you do it?"
So we went back to the house, dry and safe, with many poopable spaces, with several rooms set aside for the purpose of pooping in safety and comfort, to wait and watch each other and pretend that everything was OK.
Finally the rain let up and he reluctantly found a spot outside.
It's a dog's life.