Rain can make what’s already a tough gig–visiting a municipal shelter–a real downer, but it’s hard to stay low with an eight-week-old face gazing up at you.
Chica is an owner surrender and for the moment, perfectly content to play indoors. Her kennel isn’t large, but neither are either of us, so I settle in for some tug. Chica’s got other ideas. She clearly sees my body as a jungle gym and scampers up my torso, squirrel-style, eventually perching on my shoulder.
I should use this as a “teachable moment” and let her know it’s not good manners to climb all over humans. But I don’t. It’s dumping rain, and we’re stuck in a shelter, and for a short time, none of that matters.