And I feel like there's a black labrador in the picture somewhere

It's not even raining right now. It's sort of like a heavy mist. Like if you were to live in Maine or something, right on the ocean, and you'd talk like a salty sea dog all the time and eat saltwater taffy and lobstah and clam chowdah.

And then the wind would blow and the mist would float sideways, making your umbrella totally useless, so instead you have to wear one of those giant, yellow rain suits that have the pants underneath with suspenders. And under your raincoat you'd have to wear a cable nit wool sweater because it's a bit nippy out, yah?

And Martha would call you when the chowda was hot enough, and you'd place the lobstah trap on the rocky coastline and trek into the sea house with a mansard roof but stop just short once you got through the door to take off your galoshes because you didn't want Martha to yell at you for tracking that salty sea mist into the house like you always do. You've got a piece of seaweed stuck to your boot.