Sunday, sleepy, Sunday...OR so I thought.
The day began with Mom hustling about. What the heck? My math tells me it is NOT a daycare day. Well, turns out it was time for Grandma and Noelle to head back home. Finally, that little Sherpa Goat won't be jumping out at me from behind corners. It takes all the strength I can muster to NOT take a chomp out of her. Although with that much hair, I'd certainly choke so probably best I just swat her back with my great bear paws :)
Anyway, Mom came back sans the Yeti and then she pulled out the pail. Oh no, isn't it too cold for that? Please tell me it's too cold for that!
Let me share some insight with you fans.
We are Barbet, Water Dogs, NOT Water Hose Dogs! For some reason, these humans think that a rubbery snake like instrument coming at you with ice cold water at high pressure is somehow going to incite something other than LET ME RUN THE OTHER WAY! I wonder if someone threw them under that hose what they would do. Doubtful they would roll over on their backs and ask for more! Really!
Well, my brother Kolby, well, what can I say. He IS the exception. Since a puppy he goes OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) crazy for the WATER hose. He likes to bite it and jump over it, then stop and take a big slug. So, he is a water hose dog. Getting Hosed is beneath the appropriate level of decorum a French Water Dog with such an esteemed heritage as I should be expected to endure. The wild Wheaten, well, I can't speak to his issues but clearly they exist!
So, Mom washed her car on this 35 degree weather day and in the process washed her Wheaten. I? Well, I did the only thing a real Water Dog could do - I hid behind the frozen bush and hoped she would go away!
Give me a lake, a pond, even an in-ground swimming pool. But, please don't Hose me, save that for my nutso brother, Mom!
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