When I get back to my small flat I want to hear somebody bark

When I come home on a rainy day, the dogs are pleased to see me but not in their usual ecstatic way. They are more subdued and a little bit indignant, in a hurry to get inside and warm and dry. Of course they hate going through the process of getting dry, because that involves some nasty business with a towel. And sometimes a noisy hairdryer, which is a bit like being in front of the heater except a lot less dignified. They particularly resent getting each foot dried individually. Once I get them reasonably dry I leave them shut in the laundry while I spread sheets and towels on the couches to try to keep them dry.

Then I triumphantly open the laundry door and provide access to nirvana, the warm dry house, maybe even with their blanket in front of the heater. Without fail, within one minute, Mia is standing at the back door asking to go out again.

When I open the door for her – worried that she has been huddling on the back step for hours and probably needs to go – she goes out onto the back porch (which is covered by a tarp) and stares at the rain. Yep, still raining. Isn't it my job to turn OFF the rain?

She comes back inside and tries again in a few minutes.

I was talking about this with a friend earlier this evening. He said he had a cat who used to go to the front door, asking for it to be opened, look out at the rain, decide not to go outside. Then – brilliant flash of insight! Go to the back door, wait for patient person to open that one, look out at the rain (what? There's all this water here too?), decide not to go outside. Repeat this process several times.

I love imagining what goes on in their furry little heads.