McKinley: Why does it rain?
Me: Ummm, because the flowers need water?
McKinley: But I don’t like rain.
Me: I know.
McKinley: Make it stop.
McKinley: Why does Sam like rain?
Me: He doesn’t like it, he just doesn’t care if he gets wet.
McKinley: I think rain can kill you.
Me: You are not the Wicked Witch of the West. You will not melt.
McKinley: Are you sure?
Me: I can throw you out in the rain to find out.
McKinley: Mom, that’s not funny…
Me: My wee little doggie, have you noticed?
McKinley: Noticed what?
Me: You’re not as afraid of the rain as you used to be. Why do you think that is?
McKinley: Sam’s not afraid, Mom. He likes rain. Sam likes everything. He’s always happy.
Me: You think maybe you learned not to be afraid from Sam?
McKinley: Maybe. but don’t throw me out in the rain.
Me: Have I ever done that?
McKinley: I like sunshine.
Me: I know that too.
McKinley: I guess rain is okay if it is a drizzle, or – what do you call it? – a two-foot rain.
Sam: If you two members of my fan club are done talking, it would sure be nice if we could take a walk. Because I gotta, you know, go water the bushes. And Pocket told me there’s a cute long-haired red Dachshund named Emma down by the back gate. She might be out today. Hubba-hubba.
McKinley: You’re such a barbarian, Sam.
Sam: Don’t you forget it, babe.