My girl-dog Echo does not like water. She hates the rain, walks around to avoid even the shallowest puddles, suffers through inevitable baths when she begins to stink, and never, ever, swims.
When we moved to Tennessee, she became more of a "country-dog" instead of a "small-town dog." She began to get a just a little more relaxed about water. She would occasionally tramp through the mud-flats of the pond and come home with muddy feet. She would periodically get wet crossing through the creek to investigate something her nose told her was on the other side.
Yesterday, while I was busily picking blackberries (and trying to extricate myself from the brambles snagging my shirt and pants), I heard a scuttle and small splash--followed by the giant SPLASH! of my dog leaping into the pond after whatever creature went in first.
As I whirled around, Echo was frantically paddling in the murky water, headed for the shore. Apparently, her limbic brain reacted before she thought about it rationally, (or as rationally as a dog can think), and suddenly, she was in the water before it registered that she really didn't want to be there.
She was a mess. Mud up to her flanks, dirty water pouring from her belly-fur, and pond scum all over her face! She stood on the bank, shaking herself, muddy water flying everywhere. It was definitely time to go home.
When we got up to the house, I immediately filled the tub. Echo slinked into the bathroom without any coaxing from me, and climbed into the bath by herself. I honestly think she was chagrinned at her own foolishness.
After much sudsing and rinsing, I brushed about a pound of hair off the dog:
She spent the rest of the day huddled damply on the couch, looking disgusted with herself.
1 comment:
That Echo...true to womanhood. Sometimes we jump before we realize just what we've done. Bless her heart!
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