They'll sniff the guano for a minute and then dump their front end over so that one shoulder is smashed smack in the middle of it. With their hind end still in the air, they propel themselves forward through the excrement, making sure to get the shoulder and side smeared up nicely before flopping the hind-end down. Then, they'll roll over to their back, rub that in real good before standing up to smash the other shoulder in to make the job complete.
Sometimes they'll even make a meal of the crap they stumble upon. Then they trot over to me with a pleased grin on their face and want a kiss and a pet. (Huh, I wonder if that's where the phrase "crap-eating grin" originated. . .)
- My job has had stipulations put on it recently that make it less than ideal.
- A kid in my fifth period class drives me nuts.
- My good friend, who is also the breeder of my dogs, has bladder cancer.
- My team lost in the playoffs and shouldn't have.
- The team I used to coach is going to state.
- The big 3-0 is lurking around the corner and I'm still single.
- Did I mention my sweet Mekka died??
I realized this morning, in the middle of an especially grand pity party, that I've been wallowing in the poop of my life just like my dogs. Except for one very important difference, I wasn't finding the experience to be a positive one.
Instead, I've been doing this:
I choose #2.
Mark that down as yet another lesson I learned from my animals.
Eu de poo-poo anyone??