We’ve certainly had a deluge of wet and windy weather in recent months.
I said goodbye to several fence panels thanks to Storm Ciara and trudging through endless slippery mud on walks has been the norm for weeks.
Every so often there is a bright day and the fields start to dry up, just a touch, only to be barraged with torrential rain the following day, returning the ground to something resembling a swamp.
Washing Flossie’s legs and undercarriage has become a tedious daily chore.
Last week she gleefully added dripping excrement to the layers of mud. I knew something was awry when I saw her nose go up as she cantered off in the opposite direction to the one we were going in. She returned when I called her but not before she had caked her entire back, from head to tail, in wet mud and poo.
I sighed. I was used to this from my previous dog, Dotty, who enjoyed a satisfying roll several times a week. I’m not awash with special skills but I am absurdly proud to say I can identify several types of poo from smell alone. This was deer.
Walking back to the car was a whiffy affair. Trying to prevent Flossie smearing her poo-encrusted torso across the boot was only partially successful by draping a towel around her.
Once home, she stood in the garden looking glum. The inevitable washing routine is something she tolerates while we negotiate a vast number of treats in return for her allowing me to go near her.
She manages to administer several full-body shakes to ensure I am thoroughly drenched in the process.
We get there in the end, me feeling slightly irritable, Flossie rather pleased with herself, and both of us soggy and a little smelly.
It was a risk that she would return to the same spot the following day.
And she did.
As published in the Bath Chronicle, 26 March 2020
Suzy Pope is a certified copywriter and newspaper columnist specialising in pets, business and lifestyle. If you would like help with a writing project, please get in touch.