 |
| You can't smell it, but think dirty odors. |
That’s what mom told me very bluntly last Saturday. She
sniffed my neck – right where I had rub that awesome dead worm, that I found in
the driveway, into my fur a few days ago– and her nose turned all wrinkled.
Then she found some raccoon poop behind my ear and almost lost her mind from
the smell of it. What is wrong with her? Does she not like my outdoorsy appeal?
I like when I smell like adventure and camping trip and wild hunting dog. But
there was no discussing it. Before I knew it, she had made me naked (took the
collar off), dragged me into the bathroom, locked the door, put me in the
shower and turned the hose on. I mean, we are talking about a scrub and wash,
not a romantic foamy sponge bath with a squeaky rubber ducky. She scrubbed and
washed and there was a grey-brown broth coming off my fur – I was afraid that
she was washing all the color off of me and I would look like an albino beagle.
When she finally thought that there was no more stink on me, she started to
chase me with a towel.
 |
| Shiny, none stinky, got away from the bathroom. |
Too bad for her: All wet, I jumped out of the shower
and showed her how much disrespect I had for her behavior by shaking all over
the bathroom. Ha! There was still dirt coming off and it left a nice splashy pattern
on the tiles! I must have made enough of a mess, because all at once, she
started yelling something like “get out of her” and I managed to escape from
being water tortured and was finally free to rub myself all over the carpet – I
might have picked up some ant or fly poop. You never know until it stinks.
