Sunday, March 26, 2006

The Dog Days of Spring


I don't know how it's possible, but my dog is my youngest daughter. I am fairly sure that one has to die in order to be reincarnated, but perhaps there was a twin-separated-at-birth thing and the other soul entered my dog. In any case, the similarities became very clear yesterday when my dog caught spring fever.

It was a gorgeous, unexpectedly warm day and my one-year-old retriever, after depositing a ginormous pile of poop on the front lawn of the only neighbor who doesn't have a dog, managed to recruit one of his brothers (who lives in our neighborhood) for a sneaky escape to the creek. By the time I found them, they were both neck-deep in the water and having an absolute frolic-festival. I swear they were giggling. I tied my rogue pup up onto the deck to dry and with one hefty jerk of his neck, the clasp on the leash broke and he was free. Free to find the nearest pile of cat poo and roll in it.

There is something really comical about seeing a 65 pound dog balance on his back and writhe back and forth, all skinny, fluffy legs flailing in the air. That is, until you realize that his sole objective is to completely coat himself in cat poop. Don't ask me why, that's another blog entirely.

After another bath, during which I swear he was shooting me evil looks for ridding him of his newly acquired eau de parfum, he was tied to the front door so he could dry in the sun. Fifteen minutes later, he managed to finish chewing through the leash in two places (one would have been sufficient, but I think he was sending me a message) and I was forced to put him in puppy prison.

He spent a couple of hours drying off in his crate, whining and pawing at the door every once in a while just to let me know how pissed off he was. I decided to let him out to play a bit more but it soon became evident that this was just not his day, or maybe it was mine that was doomed. In any case, instead of fetching a ball or sniffing out some particularly interesting wildlife, he spent a half hour mounting the neighbor's dog who is in her teens and has horrible arthritis in her hips. My youngest daughter was delighted, screaming that he was getting a "piggy back ride" and laughing every time he managed to chase the other dog down and torture her.

I hope it rains tomorrow.

2 comments:

Miss Devylish said...

I would think that you should be grateful the youngest of your human children actually doesn't roll around in poop - well.. anymore! ;)

kario said...

No, but give her a vat of hot fudge or whipped cream, or scented lotion, or a mud puddle, well, you get the idea...

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