Rain, Dogs and the High Desert

This was written on our last glorious day of rain, Wednesday, April 1st.

I opened the garage door, our two dogs straining at their leashes (sadly, they must be leashed) and we looked out at a green and wet world.

It had rained early in the morning.

And I thought, call in sick from work, cancel school. Get outside!

Better yet, take the English class kids out and have them write essays about the rain, have the lovely future botanists take note of the change in colors, from dull and gray to bright green. Ask them why the moss on the rocks is iridescent in the rain.

In most of the rest of the country, rain is just rain, sometimes an inconvenience, something to just be ignored.

But here, in the high desert, a rainy day is special, sacred, giver of life. The garish sun is replaced by overcast skies. The air is cool and wet.

There are times when it is good to let go of our busy, adult, overscheduled lives and celebrate being alive. A rainy day in Santa Fe is one of those times.

Our dogs, Toby the Great Pyrenees and Maisie the Chihuahua- Terrier (um, terrorist) get it. They twitch with excitement as we begin our walk. Even though it's the same road that we've walked for years, after a rain in the early morning, it's different. They zigzag the road, chasing more fragrant smells; every puddle needs to be examined. On a hot and dry day, when a rabbit crosses ahead of us, it is ignored, too much work. But now, in the cool of a wet morning, both dogs yip in excitement and want to chase.

Towards the end of our walk, it started to rain again. Not a pounding, New Mexico, climate-change downpour, but a relatively gentle rain. Endurable, but we got wet.

About getting wet: Our dogs don't seem to mind. Toby has a double coat. Maisie wears a fleece sweater that keeps her warm even when it's wet. As for me, I try to remember the days when our kids were young, and we'd stand under the canales after a hot day, waiting for the thunderstorms to come and get soaked.

But coming back into the house with wet dogs, there are rules. We race to dry them off with towels before they leap onto the couch for their mid-morning naps. For reasons I don't understand, they don't like to be dried off; they prefer to "air-dry." So it is a bit of a wrestling match that requires two adults for two dogs.

Then there is this other imperative about a rainy day. The dogs get it and do not resist. We humans have been trained by our culture to resist the nap as the rain sings on the roofs of our homes. I know, I know that many of us are stuck in offices, schools, and stores, but the call to nap is strong. It goes back to ancient times when our lives were lived by the rhythm of the weather. On dry days we worked outside, but when it rained, we came in and rested. My mom used to enforce rest time on rainy days, (mostly so she could grab a nap). The kids would head to their rooms and Shawnee and Rikka, our dogs, would choose which child to nap with.

Now it is approaching noon and the rain has stopped. It is still overcast and a wonderful, unusual gray. The dogs are asleep at my feet, setting a new record for lengths of naps. I'm on my third cup of coffee, trying to resist joining the pups and sleeping. I can't help but stare out the window at how different our small world looks when it is wet. Right now, it is silent; the birds have not returned to the feeders, they are in the trees sheltering. The bulbs in our garden are dripping wet, and the lilacs are just beginning to leaf out. If plants could sing, they'd be joyous.

I know that soon the sun will come out, and the drying will begin. Our dogs will awake and want to play. But now, in this special Santa Fe moment, I just want to take it in: the coolness, the wet, the green, and the iridescence. High desert cultures have prayed and sacrificed for days like this. Civilizations have dissolved due to a lack of them. So let's enjoy. Go get wet!