Poop.

When I came home this afternoon, I did not expect to have to give Olive a bath. She wasn't ripe enough. We limit her baths to need rather than luxury. It's a process to get her in the tub. Now, let's not confuse this with licking the tap in the tub of her own accord. She LOVES that. But calling her into the bathroom is a surefire signal that something is up. She's no dummy. Well, sort of.

The damn dog, upon being let out to go do her 'thang, decided to roll, not once, not twice, but THREE times in poop. It may have been from the butthole of a deer, maybe a raccoon, maybe another dog. Wherever the dookie originated from is irrelevant. What IS relevant is that it ended up all over Olive. And it was gross. Why? Why does she find the need to roll in crap? Cause she's an animal? The dog our family had while I was growing up never rolled in doo-doo.

I guess Big Red and I got lucky. We have sweetheart of a dog, who is relatively well behaved, adorable as all get out AND LOVES TO ROLL IN SHIT. Great.

So into the tub she went. Not exactly what I wanted to do when I got home, but it had to be done. Although she was quite content to smell like shit, that just wasn't feasible.

As I write this, she is sound asleep, curled up in a tight little doggie ball, and smelling sweetly.

Poop or no poop, I still love her.

ps: Happy Anniversary Mom & Dad. 35 years and still going strong.