9 Feb


By mud I especially mean mud puddles. My dog will literally gallop in the opposite direction to rabbits or pheasants (the fruitless chase of whom is normally an indescribable pleasure) to plonk himself down in brown muck and shove his face in it. And goodness knows what’s in there? A stew of dirt and cow poop and bacteria and probably some traces of small pox and plague. What makes it worse is that he’s a white dog. I feel like light coloured dogs particularly relish making their coat look like its been smeared in feces, like it’s fluffy’s little protest against domestication. A big middle finger to all the baths and brushes. And then they step up the defiance by not coming when called, but when they finally do, they choose that moment to shake off. Ensuring that you and your clothes are splattered with the mud poop stew. And then I look at my dog’s face and I swear I see an air of profound satisfaction and perhaps even a smattering of smugness. I know after a quick fight with the hose that ultimately ends with my dog being tethered to the garden fence, I return to being Alpha dog. But I can see a glimmer in his eye, that he cherishes his little victory and in that moment he reminds me of Braveheart or Gladiator… Maybe I’ll nickname him Mudheart….



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