When the Rain Comes ...

We're all pretty much aware of the intense rain and wind storm that hit Buffalo and Western New York yesterday and is still hitting us today. Once again, an inalienable fact was proven: Dogs want their walks, regardless the weather.
I got home at about 4:20 p.m. (8 a.m.-4 p.m. work) and, as usual, I started Walker Evans' food and went to take him on our walk. While it was raining pretty good downtown when I left, by the time I got to our home in the Elmwood Village, the rain was barely a sprinkle. I had to be back somewhere at about 5:45 p.m., so I didn't have time to wait for the storm to stop (a dumb hope anyway).
The rain held up for about half of our walk; it started to get more intense as we got to Norwood and West Ferry, and by the time we got to Richmond and started coming back, it got much harder and was a downpour in another minute or so. While Walker looked at me in disdain a few times, he neither started to walk faster nor cut off his route at all; I try to let him pick our route within reason.
I was wearing a hooded, waterproof coat, which did its job well except that it funneled off some of the water directly onto my thighs; my jeans, of course, weren't waterproof, and while my coat extended a bit down my thighs, the water started hitting right under that. At first I was pissed off, then I realized that the downpour was going to soak me in another block or so anyway, runoff or not.
As we neared home, Walker looked more and more like a black and tan half-drowned rat, and started to smell (toweling him off afterwards only achieved so much), leaving a scent throughout the house for much of the night until, curled near the space heater Val started using, he dried off. My jeans are still hanging over a bathroom rack drying, more than 13 hours later.