Okay, I'd like to vent a little something that has been frustrating me lately. Two times in the last three weeks-- count them, twice! -- when I have returned to the house after little adventures in the woods behind our house, my humans have greeted me by smelling me and immediately forcing me to take a (gasp) sponge bath. The humiliation! The shame! The good news in this story is, with the great maturity I have demonstrated in this third year of my existence, they do let me cruise around a little bit as long as I wear a collar with their contact information and my bell (see photo). As long as I return within what they consider a reasonable amount of time (and believe me, in their minds "reasonable" means "brief"), they're fine.
Again, that's the good news. Meanwhile, back to the baths. Yes, prior to both, I did roll in something dead. And so what if I did? Is a little rotten raccoon so bad? They just don't get it, you know? Read my lips: I... don't... mind... smelling... like... carrion!
Believe me, I'd rather smell like dead coyote than be subjected to a bath. And, if you don't mind me saying, the fresh sheets on their (read: "my") bed could certainly use a little deadening up. Sheesh. What does a dog have to do to get through to people? Helloooo... I do not like your baths, okay? Brother!
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