Aki and I want the wet days of fall to stay away until at least September. We expect sunshine in July or at least dry, high gray skies. Today’s rain drives us into the cottonwood enclosure at Treadwell, where a myriad of drops hammer insect damaged foliage. The sound, like that produced by a million field mice banging the edges of tiny snare drums drowns out the lecture of on the Treadwell Mine disaster given by a local in sensible rain gear to a dampening crowd in thin plastic ponchos. I can’t hear the approach of a Damn boat, one of Holland America’s navy and white cruise ships that stop for a few hours in Juneau. I can’t hear bird song or the squirrels scold Aki. But I don’t turn back to the car because Aki is still working the ground; reading the scent of dog friends and wild things that already braved the storm.