Good Morning from Northern Ireland. I’m taking Charlie the border terrier on an epic 10K walk this morning to the shores of Lough Neagh and back. Unlike most of us, Charlie is loving lockdown as he’s never been walked as much in his life. Especially as I’m at home more now and am focusing more on walking as a form of exercise as opposed to running. We will be setting off soon for adventures and hi-jinks aplenty.
What Charlie doesn’t know is that the minute we get back home he’s headed for his most hated location – the bath. Being a small and inquisitive dog he loves to get muddy as he explores the highways and byways of this green and pleasant land. There is so much to see and sniff. Plus he’s never walked round a puddle in his life, preferring to plough through the middle, no matter it’s depth or murkiness.
Bath time normally involves an initial wrestling match until he reluctantly accepts his fate and stands stoically while he’s hosed down and the yucky green dog shampoo is applied. He cuts a picture of abject misery, his chocolate brown eyes pleading for his wicked master to stop and release him from this hellish plight. I am a cruel and despicable man, taking delight in this most unnecessary act of barbaric torture.
There’s always a price to pay for getting down and dirty. Charlie knows that as do I, having hit rock bottom at various stages of my life. The cleaning up process afterwards is often a painful, protracted experience. The people who help you through this are frequently the subject of your disdain. But like Charlie and myself, they only mean well and are there because they care. Getting dirty is a messy business but getting clean afterwards can be even messier.