So my dog made a mess in his crate overnight. Not a big deal, he eats anything he can get his mouth on, upset tummies are expected. I've parented 3 human babies, messes happen, I know the drill.
For Waffles, there's no good place in the house to wash him, so normally I take him out to the driveway and hold him by the collar and clean him off with the hose. He doesn't love the cold hose-water, but I've seen him frolick in deep puddles in January.
And this time I had something new to help! I fenced in my backyard. But on the other hand, the back yard is all grass. And mud. And last time I was barefoot, this time I was wearing flipflops.
I made a strategic mistake.
Do not underestimate the traction of a panicky Golden in his element. He ran hard and I skated along my now-muddy lawn in my flipflops, dragged by my fingers hooked under his collar. He stopped just in time to bash me against the shed.
I have newfound respect for rodeo guys that hogtie livestock.
I'm black and blue but the most bruised part of me is my ego for getting beaten-up by a two-foot-tall 70 lb eunuch.
my poor sick pupper.
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