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So let me tell you about Ragger and Rhody… two Bernedoodles or living Muppets as I call them,  that I absolutely adore and two dogs that apparently believe rules are more like friendly suggestions.
If you’ve heard me talk about these two before, then you already know Rhody is my 95-pound Velcro dog. And when I say Velcro dog, I mean if she could unzip my skin and crawl inside for emotional support, she absolutely would. This girl takes me leaving personally. She lays beside me… then somehow slowly melts and shifts all 95 pounds directly onto my body until I can’t move. Like ma’am… am I your pet sitter or your weighted anxiety blanket?
Now Ragger? He’s a little more independent. He likes attention, but on his terms. He’ll sit nearby like, “I enjoy your company, but let’s not make this weird.”
Also, Rhody must be on my left side. That’s just the way she rolls. I don’t ask questions. I respect the system.
So one of the first times I watched them, their mom — we’ll call her Miss T — sent me a message:
“Please don’t let the dogs get in the pool. Not a huge deal if they do… but I’d prefer they don’t.”
Okay. Got it. No pool.
Simple enough.
Except it was approximately one thousand degrees outside. These are giant, fluffy Bernedoodles wearing permanent winter coats. We were hanging out on their adorable porch swing overlooking the intercoastal — the kind with a mattress on it where you can lay there and pretend life isn’t stressful.
I stood up and looked at them.
“Do NOT go in the water. I am going inside for two minutes. I’m grabbing my drink and using the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
Now… in my defense… I may have also grabbed a snack.
Maybe two snacks.
Details aren’t important.
I come back outside.
Silence.
No Rhody.
No Ragger.
Nothing.
And immediately I knew.
You know that feeling when your soul leaves your body for a second?
That.
I walked around the corner toward the pool and there they were… standing in the water looking like two giant furry criminals caught mid-heist. All four paws in. Wet up to their bellies. Just standing there looking at me like:
“Oh good. You’re back. Come join us.”
THE BETRAYAL.
I had ONE job.
One.
Now maybe it’s childhood trauma, maybe it’s my people-pleasing tendencies, maybe I just didn’t want Miss T thinking I run some underground dog water park operation… but I was PANICKED.
I didn’t want to tell her.
I considered witness protection.
Changing my identity.
Moving to another state.
But I sucked it up and texted her.
And Miss T, being a completely reasonable human being, responded:
“That’s fine. Just rinse them off really well and brush them after they dry.”
THAT’S IT?!
Meanwhile I was over here preparing my final statement.
So after realizing nobody was mad, I thought about it for a minute…
It’s hot.
The dogs are happy.
They’re already wet.
And honestly? They won.
I went inside, put my bathing suit on, and joined the little water criminals.
Because if you’re going down… you might as well go down with Ragger and Rhody.
And honestly? I’d do it again. Every single time.