In the Doghouse

The humans are so angry.

I can't help myself... I'm a dirty dog.

Me and A-Dog have been out running for the past couple weeks. She takes me places where I can run free (as long as no one is there), because I run too fast for her. When she's holding the leash, I need to summon all my patience to "run" at her pace. She lets me off when the coast is clear and we each do our own thing. That's where I run into trouble.

As I've mentioned, dogs like things that smell. We don't make a good or bad judgment about the smell; it's just smell. I lose my mind a little in the presence of decomposition. You can snap me out of almost anything with the promise of a treat, but not when I smell poor little mousy, three days gone. I get a smell, then a smear, and if I'm really lucky, a roll. That's when the shouting starts. It's usually my name and NO! and COME NOW! This is my third mouse in as many weeks, so the words coming out of A-Dog's mouth were a bit different. She was speaking so fast and loudly that all I heard was "gonna kick your barking a**!"

Needless to say, that didn't happen. I got a bath and a fresh collar (the smear is always on my neck, like a fine perfume) and a lot of attitude from A-Dog. I'm acting as contrite as possible, but it looks like no ears rubs in my future.

So why? Why do we rub ourselves in death with such passion? The ancient instinct to mark our discovery to the pack is one theory. Masking our odor for hunting is another. Whatever the reason, I don't think about doing it. I just do. And I only remember that I'm not supposed to do it, until after it's done.

What can you take away from this? Either accept it as natural dog behavior or keep me on the leash and run faster. Here endeth the doggie lesson - woof!



Hey! That's my head right there.
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