The first drop of rain hits, and Nyx stops in her tracks. She looks at the sky, then back at us, like we personally turned on the water. Her ears droop, her paws freeze, and she gives the most dramatic sigh you’ve ever heard.
She’ll stand at the doorway, refusing to step out, no matter how many times we say “go potty.” The grass is wet, the air is damp, and she’s not having any of it. If she could, she’d file a complaint with the weather department.
Eventually, she tiptoes outside with tiny, offended steps—just enough to get the job done—then races back inside like the floor is lava. Rain and Dobermans? Not a love story.
