Damn it, Sparky!

Laying a guilt trip on me.

When you have a dog as smart as Sparky, sometimes you sort of forget he’s a dog, ya know? I’ll  catch myself saying things to Spark that he couldn’t possibly understand, like, “Well, Spark, I think I’ll clean the bathroom tomorrow” or “Spark, I’ve been contemplating the Theory of Quantum Entanglement. What are your thoughts?”

You know, stuff like that.

Occasionally though, Spark does things to remind me he’s a dog.

Like today.

I was taking him a walk behind where Twin School used to be, and once we got back off the road a bit I unleashed him to let him run. All was well until I looked around and he was gone. No big deal, he bolts after critters from time-to-time, even coyotes. Hell, he had four confirmed crab kills at the Outer Banks a couple weeks ago. Still, when he didn’t answer my calls I turned around and walked back to see what was up.

I was about to be reminded that Sparky is, in fact, a dog.

You know, since he was rolling around in a dead cat.

A dead cat complete with maggots and slimy guts and stuff.

Oh, good Lord.

It’s now an hour later, and Spark has been on the receiving end of a garden hose doggie shampoo shower. Of course, I needed a scalding hot shower of my own, which I would have gladly taken using a steel wool pad had one been handy. Take it from me, dead cat aroma tends to cling to you. Not exactly how I wanted to spend my Saturday afternoon.

And now my dog refuses to make eye contact, as if this is somehow all my fault.

Damn it, Sparky!