I knew it would rain.

When you have had osteoarthritis as long as me, you know that feeling:  hours, even days before the storm clouds roll in, that creeping phantom of misery -- that horrible pain starts crawling through your joints.  You feel slightly out of breath, nauseous.  Walking around (waddling is more like it) feels like knives and daggers are attacking you from all directions.

I do not know why it rains.  Staring confusedly at my two-legged pets has never elicited an explanation.  (Just a shrug of the shoulders when it's bathroom time -- hey, you'd be hesitant to go, too, if a there were a downpour over your toilet.)

But I do know that I am in for a world of hurt when it does rain.

Oh the nagging aches ... be grateful, my human friends, that you can distract yourselves with reading, talking, and pain medications.

Me?  I get to lie in my reserved chair all day.  That is, of course, only when I can manage to hop up into it.

I am thinking today may be an occasion for napping on the cool, kitchen floor.

To send Creak your thoughts:

• add a comment below
• or e-mail him by clicking here

I like to sleep.

Not going to pretend otherwise.  Whether it be because of my middle age (I am over 8 human years, you know), or my osteoarthritis, sometimes there is nothing I enjoy more than a satisfying nap -- curling right up on whatever comfy materials happen to be closest.

As of late, this has earned the ire of my pets.

Apparently it is not OK to pull the Parents' blanket off their bed to create a pallet on the floor.

Sad, you see, because their blanket is very thick and soft and makes sleeping feel like I am snuggling up in the arms of a beautiful St. Bernard. (Don't judge me.  I know how you humans are with your double quarter pounders and your karaoke.)

Apparently it is not OK to grab the Daughter's water pillow, pop it, and use its cool plastic lining to numb my knees.

Sad, you see, because I very much enjoy watching her dolls whisk across the floor in the ensuing current.

And apparently it is not OK to knock over the pasta jar, spill noodles throughout the kitchen, and have four-legged drifting contests with the Two-Legged Toddler.

Sad, because, though it has nothing to do with sleeping, it is ridiculously fun.  (Makes me feel like a pup again.)

Thus, I'll stick to my latest favorite:  the oh-so-sweet-smelling-and-about-to-be-knocked-over-pile-of-just-folded laundry.

The humans couldn't possibly have a problem with that one.

As I lie here watching my pets scurry around the house -- shoelaces untied, a backpack hiding from its owner, young ones too nervous to eat a proper breakfast -- I realize that my life as a member of the noble family of Canine has yet another benefit:  no forced schooling.

Whereas the Two-Leggers are all a fret, running around as school starts back up, I get to lie here.  Relaxed.  In fact, I could just go back to sleep if I want to.  Maybe get up in the early afternoon, and have one of my older pets rub my belly.  You know, just to get them to talk in those ridiculous baby voices.

Although, sometimes I wonder if that's the osteoarthritis talking (the wanting to just lie around, not the "let's-tickle-belly" baby voices).  If I felt younger and sprier, would I not mind running around myself a little, heading off to dog-training school?  I could serve a greater purpose and help firemen fight fires or the blind find those buttons on ATM machines.

Ouch.  My knees.  (All four of them.)

Alas, I cannot finish the thought without feeling the pain.

Back to the doggy bed it is.  Perhaps this afternoon I'll feel better.