Don’t You *Love The Smell of Wet Dog?

So, here in Casa Simone, I can refute the rumour that ‘The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain’. I can assure you that it falls on the mountains too. Mainly up in the mountains, in fact.

In the last week, the planters on my balconies have captured about seven inches of rain.

Needless to say, the dogs are thrilled by this development, taking every opportunity to dash out, roll in our local bright orange clay mud, and carry it back into the house. And since, Eddie the Podenco is more or less orange and white anyway, he’s pretty much vanished into the landscape.

Don’t you just love the smell of wet dog?

Of course, sheer Sod’s Law says that the swimming pool (actually an old concrete water deposit someone painted blue in the long-ago past) has the plug out, so I’m losing all that water.

The logic here is that keeping water in the pool has been a battle for the last nine years. Without constant attention, the level drops from 6 feet deep to 18 inches. And while paddling is pleasant, when the gauge hits 45 degrees (113 Fahrenheit for the rest of you out there 😊) in August, I feel the need to swim.

So, after a record-breaking dry spell over March and April and three weeks of scraping and power-washing away 50 years of accumulated layers of paint, we finally discovered the crack that was letting the water out.

Another week of sealing, re-sealing, painted, re-painting and painting again, the instruction on the tin tell me the paint has to seal for fourteen days before we can fill the pool.

And naturally, this is when the rain arrives, and I can’t keep the water. There go the water bills. *sigh*