A rose by any other name

We were reminded today of a summer’s afternoon, many years ago, when we were walking the dogs in the woods on Edgehill. Every so often we would be assaulted by the most vile smell, which dispersed very quickly. After the fourth attack we realised it only occurred when our Labrador ran past us. She had rolled on a dead rat, and was proudly wearing its perfume (Kennel No 5). We had to drive back home leaning out of the car windows while our other dog glared accusingly at us for making her stay in the back.

This afternoon, when we saw Piglet joyfully rolling in the middle of a field, we knew that we were in for the same delight. I have no idea what it was, but one side of him was completely brown, and walking home behind him was very difficult as my eyes were watering so much I could hardly see. It was going to be time for his first bath.

Piglet is 4 years old, and up until today has stayed clean. Yes, his feet have needed washing occasionally but our dogs have the sort of coat that, once mud has dried, sheds dirt with a good brushing, and baths are generally unnecessary unless they need to be pristine for a show. Piglet isn’t a showdog by any stretch of the imagination, so he has never needed a wash. So having swilled him down in the garden before he was clean enough to enter the bathroom, he was led upstairs on his collar and lead. He was a little confused by this, because the dogs aren’t normally allowed upstairs, and get scolded if they do, so this was puzzling to him. “Where are we going mummy? Gosh, this is quite exciting! Into the bathroom – ooh, this is different! You’re taking my collar off now. There’s a lot of water in that white thing … why are you picking me up? I don’t think I want …aarrrggghh!!!”

Maybe we won’t need the stairgate any more.