I'm sick of the rain.

I know we needed it. Lake Lanier hasn't been at full pool for so long that I've forgotten how it looked and what we all went through during the height of the drought. I was right there with the rest of you praying for rain.

And just like the rest of you, I celebrated as the level of the lake slowly rose over the last several months.

But the lake is full now and enough is enough. I'm sick and tired of the rain.

We've had several beautiful, sunny days lately, and I thank God for each of them. But the forecast has rain coming back into the area by the middle of the week.

And I'm sick of it.

I break out into a cold sweat every time I see clouds gathering on the horizon.

I'm beginning to mildew.

I swear I saw animals pairing up two by two along Thompson Bridge Road.

My backyard is beginning to resemble a swamp. This is a particular problem because of Glory, the black and white springer spaniel who lives at my house. Glory has come to think of herself as a princess, and princesses apparently do not let their feet get wet.

She will - reluctantly - go outside when the ground is wet. But the way she delicately walks around the backyard indicates she's ain't real crazy about it.

It's worse when it's actually raining. When it is raining, Glory flatly refuses to go out. No way, no how.

Normally, any move I make that indicates we're about to go for a walk - picking up the leash, for instance - sends Glory into a bouncing-off-the-wall frenzy. But as soon as I open the door and she sees that it is raining, her excitement ends. She sits and refuses to move. She looks at me as if I've stolen her last Milk Bone.

Her look says, "If you think this is such a great idea, Funny Guy, let's see you go to the bathroom outside in the rain."

Tuesday was one of those days. Tropical Storm Ida was moving into our area, and the weatherman on TV was saying we could get up to five more inches of rain before the day was over. It was raining hard Tuesday morning as I got ready to leave for work, and Glory wouldn't go out.

"OK, but you're not going to get another chance until I come home at lunch," I told her.

She wouldn't budge, apparently believing her bladder could outlast the tropical storm.

I went home at lunch. Same story. She wouldn't go out.

It was still raining when I got home from work that evening. I hurried upstairs to drop off my briefcase in the guest bedroom that doubles as an office. I was in such a hurry, I didn't even turn on the lights.

As I started out of the room, I took a step and heard a "squish."

My first thought was that Glory's refusal to go outside while it is raining had caused her to commit an indiscretion of my bedroom carpet.

"GLORY!" I hollered, as I hopped over to the light switch, keeping my now-wet shoe from touching the carpet again.

When I turned on the light, though, I quickly realized it wasn't Glory's fault my carpet was wet. It was Ida's fault. My roof was leaking, and water was dripping down the light fixture onto the floor.

What a great way to end the day, I thought, as I moved a trash can under the drip from the ceiling.

And that's another reason I'm sick and tired of the rain.

By the way, I apologized to Glory.

Mitch Clarke is executive editor of The Times. His column appears Sundays in The Times. Read previous columns on gainesvilletimes.com/mitch. Originally published Nov. 15, 2009.