My kids love playing in dirt. The like to dig in it, build things with it, fill things up with it, shift it around my garden and plant things in it. I can hardly begrudge them liking to get dirty. I remember countless hours that my brother and I spent sitting in my grandmothers driveway, next to my grandfathers big white Ford pickup truck, merrily building roads and hills in the dirt for our collection of matchbox cars until we were covered in black silt sand.
However, my kids love of dirt has gone off the rails a bit. You see they took charcoal bricks, meant for the BBQ and decided to crush them up into an ultra dirty mess on the deck at the back of my house. Before I had a chance to sweep this pile of charcoal dust off the porch, my dog found the pile, and decided to have a good roll around in it.
My blonde Cocker Spaniel was covered thickly in charcoal. Charcoal is great for cave paintings, eyeliner, wonderful works of art; not so much for the coat of an overly sweet pooch. So, off to the tub she went.
As I was wetting down her fur, most of the large chunks of charcoal fell off her and sank to the bottom of the tub, and with each additional jug of water I tipped over her, the water got blacker and blacker, leaving me with a false hope that really, this wasn't going to be that bad. However when I soaped her up, the suds were a deep dark grey. So, once I rinsed her, I let the water out and had to rewash her again, to make sure that all the charcoal was off of her.
I should also mention that the dog is not a fan a bath. So each time I poured a jug of water over her back, she started shaking off. Essentially I got as much of a bath as she did. By the time I lifted her out of the tub, we were both completely soaked. All I got in return was a look of betrayal out of her puppy dog eyes, for daring to stick her in the bath.
That about sums up all the thanks I get around here most days. I still wouldn't trade it for the world.