Last week, I was having a peaceful/zen afternoon. Andy dog and I were outside, playing fetch, romping through nature, stealing strawberries out of the garden like mischievous hobbits. The sun was behind the trees, there was a fresh smell in the air, it was all so pleasant. Andy dog disappears into the tall grass for a small while. Next I hear hacking, coughing noises. I call Andy, who comes bounding out of the tall grass…COVERED IN DEER CRAP! Smothered in it really.
He’s wagging his tail and hacking on poo, that he has surely got in his mouth. I dread to bring him inside the house, I’m worried he will dash into the living room and roll on the couch. I get the garden hose, turn it on, Andy is now poised to run, I try to hold him by the collar but he bolts like a jack rabbit.
I text my husband about the new puppy and how cute she was. That evening when he arrived home, immediately…”I want to see the puppy!” We go over to our landlord’s place, have them wake the puppy up, because we are terrible people. My husband cradles the tiny sleepy puppy in his big hands.
In the meantime, he is treating Andy like a puppy. Every night he takes Andy outside before bed, after which he dries Andy’s paws with a towel. The other night, I watched as he wrapped Andy in a colorful beach towel and sang a silly song to him.
I know if we get another dog, I’ll end up being the one who takes care of it or cleans it when it rolls in poop. But it’s like fat people and cake, I can’t help it when they’re right in front of me!