Toby hates rain.
Not the thunder, not the lightning — just the rain itself.
The minute a drop hits the patio, he turns into a statue. Tail down, paws planted, eyes pleading.
The first time it happened, I thought he was just being dramatic. “It’s just water,” I said. “You drink it.”
But Toby wasn’t having it. No amount of coaxing, tugging, or bribery could get him off the porch.
It was a problem, especially living where we do — a place where “chance of rain” is basically the weather’s default setting.
I tried lifting him. He spread like a pancake.
I tried carrying an umbrella. He refused to move.
Eventually, I gave up and just mopped the floor after his indoor emergencies.
But then one day, while scrolling through late-night dog videos, I saw it: a golden retriever in a yellow dog raincoat, prancing proudly through puddles like he was on a fashion runway.
And I thought, “Maybe… just maybe.”
I ordered one — a lightweight waterproof dog raincoat with little leg straps and a hood that made Toby look like a very reluctant fisherman.
When it arrived, he looked insulted.
But I clipped it on, snapped the leash, and opened the door.
He hesitated.
Rain tapped gently on the concrete.
He looked up at me, then down at the coat, and — for the first time ever — stepped outside.
It wasn’t graceful. He walked stiffly, like someone wearing borrowed clothes. But he walked. He peed. He sniffed a tree. He even wagged once.
That was two months ago.
Now, when the sky goes grey, he trots to the door and waits by the hook where the coat hangs — like it’s his badge of bravery.
It’s still the same rain.
But Toby’s not the same dog.
And maybe that’s what courage looks like — not avoiding what scares you, but finding the right coat to wear while facing it.