"Get a dog" they said. "It will be fun" they said. Well, that is certainly an understatement.
To give you some background, I have a beautiful three-legged Jack Russel and a stunning Malamute-Husky that make quite the pair; can someone say double trouble? Shaggy and Scooby are the ultimate combination of small dog syndrome and giant teddy bear that, when combined, create a blend of feisty, loving, playful, and ornery Tasmanian devils. If one is getting into trouble, the other is right there along for the ride, but as soon as mom finds out...well, it wasn't me! There's nothing like that blatantly guilty glance, head facing away but eyes stretched as far as their peripheral vision will allow..."is she mad..? Maybe if I pretend I'm staring at the wall she won't think it was me...", yeah right!
Well readers, here is a doozy for you!
My dad lives in the tranquil hill country of Texas, with a small 'mountain' range visible on all sides (yes, they are mountains to someone originally from the mid-west where a pile of leaves is as close as it gets). This serene country side is the perfect playground for a pair of outrageous pups. They run free, galloping across the rocky terrain, hot on the heels of a squirrel. Not knowing when to quit, they wander the vast acres for hours; temporarily forgetting they have an anxious mom waiting at home. While I trust these dogs to return, I do know they are perfectly capable of being absolutely up to no good. When they disappear for hours, my mind races faster than their feet can carry them with all the things that could possibly have gone wrong.
On this particular day, Scooby is the culprit and there is no question of "who done it".
The adventure of Scooby and Shaggy began that morning with their routine potty outside and promenade around the property. An hour goes by...and then another...and another. All of a sudden four hours have vanished and they haven't returned. Like a mom whose child wandered off in a shopping mall, I began to panic. Between my father and I, a symphony of squeaking toys, whistles, and treats shaking rang out into the air; both of us praying they would return. We desperately wandered the property searching for these hooligans.
With no luck, we readied ourselves to head back, jump into our cars, and scout the surrounding areas. Suddenly, a jingle. A ring of dog tags could be heard echoing through the trees. I spotted my tri-paw scurrying up the hill with an enthusiastic desire to return home. Like a scene from a movie...Scooby rushing toward me and I towards him, he leapt into my arms as we reunited with joy; Shaggy not far behind.
That joy quickly transitioned to horror as I took in his odor...oh no...oh dear god! A sudden heave of my stomach took over as I began to gag, nearly offering my afternoon lunch to the birds. What the absolute devil is that smell??? I immediately set him down and began hollering to my dad, "come quick! Scooby reeks!".
At this point, we are all dying to know the origin of that wretched smell...for those faint of heart, I urge you to stop reading, as the remaining tale is quite unpleasant.
My dear readers...upon us comes the realization that Scooby ventured ever so bravely...forget that...mischievously, into the neighbor's outhouse. Yes, readers, this was someone else's unmentionables that I was smelling on my dog. I was too weak, unable to keep my lunch down. My father ever so bravely sacrificed himself to bathe this dog; scrubbing off chunks, YES, chunks...from his fur and his collar.
The stench followed me like a ghost, a reminder of the horror. How so, you may ask? Well, let's not forget how I embraced my dog moments before that 'oh no' realization...
Yes, it was in my hair.
"Get a dog" they said. "It will be fun" they said.
To my unconditional animal lovers...
Your's truly, AA
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