Rain. 350# of dog food. Bad.

I’d gotten tired of running out of dog food — with a Dobe, an adolescent Rott, and a puppy monster, we go through even the big bags at an alarming rate — so I placed a bulk order. Two varieties, Merrick and Flint River Ranch, totalling 350 pounds. (Hey, Merrick was on sale!)

It arrived all at once, which I didn’t expect, and so I left most of it by the gate. Jon and his visiting brother could get it tomorrow.

Jon came home tonight from his business trip, I rubbed his shoulders, we settled into bed. Thunder rumbled romantically. Lightning flashed. And just before 2 a.m., it began to rain.

“Your dog food,” Jon said.

“Drat,” I said.

So we pulled on some clothes and ran through the downpour, loaded over 300 pounds of food onto a cart and pushed it back to the house. Brigaded the food into the house, brigaded it into the basement, pulled it from wet packaging so the moisture wouldn’t seep through.

The rain stopped.

At least we don’t have to worry about moving the food tomorrow…. And I knew there was another reason I wanted to get the dogs back on raw….