There’s something rather wonderful about a rainy Sunday—when the world outside is soggy, and the only thing on your to-do list is making sure the roast doesn’t burn.

Today, we hit the brakes. No soggy walks, no frantic towel rotations, no boots flung in the hallway. Just the warm comfort of home, the clink of a roasting tray, and the symphony of snoring dogs.

Nala, of course, was not impressed.
She’s the wild one—rain, sleet, hail, or sideways wind, she’s ready to charge out the door like a weatherproof warrior. She gave me her best “But WHY are we inside?!” look all morning. You’d have thought I cancelled Christmas.

Penny, on the other hand, was quietly delighted.
Our snowy-white girl is a paws-dry, blanket-nest sort of lady. She curled up like a fluffy cloud by the radiator, content with the day’s lazy pace and not remotely interested in testing the waterproofing on her fur.

Louis spent most of the morning in the kitchen.
More accurately, under my feet, in case the roast chicken tried to make a break for it. He’s absolutely certain it’s his job to inspect all kitchen proceedings. You know, quality control. Just in case I drop something (again).

Riot made valiant attempts to settle.
He tried. He really did. He made it a full seven minutes before remembering he has legs and energy and purpose. So we compromised—he got a bit of one-on-one time, a puzzle toy, and a chicken-y sniff around the oven. It’s all about balance, after all.

And me? I poured myself a cheeky little glass of rosé. The only one I’ll allow myself—because let’s be honest, with four dogs and a child, you never know what chaos might break loose. I don’t usually drink, but today? It felt deserved.

So, with wine in hand, while looking at a lineup of very damp-nosed, expectant faces hoping for leftovers.

No one got any.

(Okay, maybe just a little.)

Sometimes, balance means knowing when to rest.
When the mud will wait, the recall can be practised tomorrow, and the real training is teaching yourself to stop, breathe, and just be—in a house filled with dogs, warmth, and the smell of Sunday dinner.

Let the puddles wait.