Epileptic, smelly friend

Four-legged-friend needs a bath. Desperately.

What is it with dogs and despicable smells; smells so awful that he has to be bannished from the room, particularly when you are attempting to consume something, without gagging?

The honk today is of spectacular proportions. Ours is not a particularly large house, but you can detect the whiff when he is approaching and still a whole room away.

So, is it to be the hose and soap and chewed fingers and soaked clothes tomorrow, or alternatively, a walk via the stream ... and soaked clothes? He is distinctly post ictal in a dreamy, gentle, slightly discombobulated fashion, having had another fit yesterday, so we didn't have the heart to over-excite him by washing today, but ablutions - or home removals to the kennel outside - will have to happen tomorrow.

And I'll have to search the garden for fox poo. Ground into the grass, heavily rolled-in fox poo.

Lovely!

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Walking The Dog

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