I've just had to bath my dog.  The dirty little git had found something smelly in the garden and had rolled all over it.  I don't know what it was in the little bag and I don't really care, but it stunk.  I wasn't going to take any chances with it as a neighbour a few doors down had had her dog poisoned by someone chucking something over the fence which he had eaten without her knowing until she took him to the vet as he got very ill very quickly.

The dubious contents of the bag looked a bit like some form of offal but it was a bit green and slimey.  Yuch!

Anyway, I picked up my dog and took him to the bathroom pretty sharpish and attempted to get him in the bath, which wasn't that easy even though he is a Jack Russell and only weighs 5.7 kilos.  Any Jack owner will tell you they are feisty, stubborn little bastards and if they don't want to do something, well, let's just say you have a fight on your hands.

After 5 minutes of being clawed at and being soaked every time he shook (which he took great pleasure in doing roughly every 20 seconds)  I left the bathroom with an altogether nicer smelling pooch, but one with a fouler temper than usual.  He spent 10 minutes running madly about and rubbing himself on the carpet, bed, sofa and everything else he could find to dry himself on and now he's sat glaring at me like I'm the worst owner in the world. 

I never made him roll in whatever it was so he's only got himself to blame