• It was gray.
    Not raining, not drizzling or snowing.
    Just gray.

    But not the kind of gray that brought frost to the window panes or icey dew to the feilds. Just quiet peaceful gray that made people say things like:

    "Looks like rain."

    or maybe

    "What weather we're having."

    But I like the gray.

    Because the rain gets my sneakers wet and the dew means Duddle and I can't run on the football feild and the frost on the windows means that I'll have to go to school even though it's too cold and I wish too much that it was a snow day.

    So I pull on my hoodie, grab a leash and collar that have been chewed down to a non-recognizable state, and I walk with my mutt onto the damp sidewalk. And though Mother always says that plugging up my ears with my "damn hell music" makes crossing the street dangerous, I do it anyway.

    Duddle and I made it all the way to the Falling Star before it started drizzling. So we had to duck into the supermarket and get yelled at because of my "hell music" and Duddle's muddy feet.

    As we walked home the drizzle turned vicious, and I had to sprint home with sixty-five pounds of wimpering fur in my arms.

    "We've been looking for you!"

    "Why don't you answer your phone?"

    "Well why did we get you one if you aren't gonna use it?"

    "You could've caught your death of cold out there!"

    But it was worth it.
    Just to see the gray.