Futility.

We have a dirty dog. Really a puppy still. Give him an area of grass, and he will make it into a dirt hole. and if there is water on it, he will make it into mud, and put it all over him. Its really a daily ritual.

He has spent the last week making 4 dirt holes in our backyard. I had spent the week before covering them up, and seeding them. Gone. It is a filthy mess. So is he.

I thought I would suprise Jayne (she is working at the moment), by giving him a shower, and cleaning him up. I spend an hour getting him clean, and let him dry in the kitchen.

I let him outside, and because of the surgery to remove the rock he ate, he is long and to the left. what I mean is that the surgery cut nearhis junk (male), and after being sewed up, it makes him aim a bit high, and to the right. I watch this beautifully clean Bernese Mountain Dog peeing like a horse onto his right leg.

For twenty or thirty seconds... I watch. And it flows all over him. And he is just staring at me with those puppy dog eyes, not a care in the world, or concern over this. He finishes up, and comes leaping to me at the door. which I shut quickly.

I stare at my hour of work, and wonder what is the use.

I am writing this, as he is outside probably getting in the mud.