Last Wednesday started out like any other normal day.  I had a hard time waking up.  Then I dressed and had breakfast while Steve took the dogs for a walk before we carpooled to work.  As I took my vitamins and got my lunch ready, the phone rang.  And it was Steve.  “Go and get a washcloth,” he told me.  The strain was evident in his voice.  Then he announced, “Wallace has rolled in something really smelly.”

You see, we have two dogs.  Two basenjis, to be exact.  They’re African dogs from the Congo, and quite frankly, not too far displaced from the jungle.  And they’re hunters who use both eyes and ears to smell prey.  Aspen is our female, and Wallace is our male.

Now, each has a different set of preferred smells.  Aspen, the princess of the family, prefers good smells like Dove soap, body splash, and shampoo.  She loves to be clean, and I think her favorite time is right after a bath.  Wallace, on the other hand, has his own idea of what smells good, stuff like fox pee, fox poo, and stinky, smelly towels.  He hates to get baths and will do everything in his power to destroy that good smelling aroma as soon as he can.

So last Wednesday, that fateful day, I knew immediately what had happened.  Wallace had rolled in something.  I just didn’t know the extent of it until the door opened, and in came two basenjis, one with a contrite expression, and one with an expression of great satisfaction.  Yes, Wallace had scored again, and not only had he gotten a basket, he’d gotten one from deep in three-point land.  Poo coated his neck, and even from ten or so feet away, I could smell it.  Yes, he’d successfully rolled in fox poo.

For the next five or so minutes, grumbling emanated from Steve as he used the washcloth to wipe off the poo.  Then he went about the business of getting ready so he and I could carpool to work.  Wallace slipped away and ran upstairs.  When I hadn’t seen Wallace for awhile, I went looking for him.  Lo and behold, I found him in what he now considers to be “his” room, sitting on the bed in the smaller guest room in what only could be described as a sloppy sit.  When he saw me, he promptly rolled over for a belly rub.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?!” I screeched.  “Get down from there!”  For those of you who have watched A Christmas Story, picture Ralphie’s mom yelling at him.

Wallace escaped for only a few more hours because that night, he got his second bath in two days.  Do you think he learned that being stinky isn’t worth it?  Absolutely not.  I’ll be waiting for the next poo incident.  Probably with washcloth in hand.  Again.