I open the door upstairs to let the dogs out. Blondie goes out eagerly despite the clearly pouring rain. Blue takes one look and goes back to bed. Blondie stands on the porch for a moment stunned by the fact that she is getting wet. She immediately scratches to come back in. I let her back in. She races downstairs and scratches at the back door downstairs. Obviously she thinks there is at least some chance that, while it’s pouring outside the upstairs back door, it might not be raining out the downstairs back door. I oblige her fantasy and let her out the back door. She stands there once again stunned that she’s getting wet. She whines immediately to come back in. I let her in. She runs to the front door. Apparently hope never completely dies in the heart or brain of a dog. But by now I’m tired of wet dog prints all over and refuse to let her out the front door. She subsides to the couch while giving me dirty looks. Clearly I have refused to let her out the one door where she is now sure the sun is shinning.