Ugh. Dogs. What is with their choice of canine cologne? Our darling dog, Holly, went out in the back yard. This is a normal activity for her. There is sun, there is shade, there is grass to eat and birds to chase and a much better choice of spiders than are in the house. So, the kids and I made second breakfast (yes, I am raising Hobbits), and afterwards, I went to let the dogs back in.
In walks Cricket. I wait. No Holly. I call. No Holly. I go into the back and there are only safe and happy spiders. No Holly.
I scan the pasture for where she would normally be and where our brother ducks were out in the tall weeds playing "Whack a Duck". No Holly.
I gather the kids, all hands on deck. The children are well trained. They put on shoes, grab leashes, my purse and the van keys.
We start cruising. Where would a tired (I walked her a mile this morning), well fed (somewhat fluffy), neurotic dog go?
We go to the turkey farm in case she has a death wish. No Holly. We go down the street to where there are some dogs behind a fence that she never gets to play with. No Holly. We drive around the old wheat field, down the dirt road to the other house with a dog. No Holly. We drive up the highway and around to Mom's because she has a canine visible cosmic sign over her house that seems to beckon all dogs to come and live with her. No Holly. The one dog in the world that hasn't shown up on Mom's porch??
We drive back toward our house, past Joan's. No Holly.
As we pull up our street I see a blur of brown and white, running, four on the floor, across the pasture it runs, flies through our front yard, jumps the fence and sits on our back porch. Holly.
I am not sure if I want to hug her or hurt her. Then I lean down, thinking, hug and the smell hits me. I look closer. Yellowish brown smears on her ear and neck. One side of her body is smothered in.....ick. Spooge. Vile offal. The cast off of a large herbivore. The remnant's of the south end of a north bound bovine.
Cow pie. Buffalo chip. Meadow muffins, land mines. On my Holly dog. She doesn't understand my confusion. She doesn't understand my instant revulsion. I choke back an instant gag reflex.
"YOU NEED A BATH!"
I couldn't have said a harsher thing to her. Her eyes widened, her ears went from pricked to drooped. She dropped to her tummy and wiggled her slathered self at me adoringly, given homage to the alpha female. I wasn't buying it.
"Bath". I only said it to drive home my disgust.
It worked. So, because I am heartless, I said it again. At this point she looked ready to jump the fence again. So we leashed her. And filled Cricket's wading pool with water. And got the "good" shampoo. And hauled her smelly self into it.
Defeat. She stood. We scrubbed, we hosed, we rinsed, we lathered. We squirted, we rubbed, we scraped, we gagged, we soaped some more.
In the end, Holly now smells like oatmeal and coconut. Her coat is back to her normal color. She is walking small. But she is home and safe.
And I now smell like wet dog.
And how was your day?
