Doug went out to mow our lawn this morning. It should have been done sometime during the week but he let it go. Work was busy. He had to go into the office on Thursday (gasp) and we just both were straight out. In fact, I'm working, it's 4:45 on Saturday, and I'm taking a break.
To share this with you.
The dog went out with him. He's very good in the yard and does not get in the way when Doug is mowing. After about a half hour of mowing the lawn, with stops and starts because the grass was long and thick and wet ("juicy" as he called it) I heard a knock on the door. Why the hell is he knocking on the door?
I opened it and he had a big grin on his face.
"You need to get your camera, and come see your dog."
So I did. And here is what I saw.
Oh Dear.
The dog is green.
Mind you, I've never had a mostly white dog. I've always had mostly black dogs, and dogs that weren't super crazy about rolling in the grass. They would a little, but mostly, no. They just chilled.
Phineas loves to roll in the grass. He goes out every morning, and rolls in the grass. We go for walks and he finds a bit of grass to flop over in, and roll about. At first I was worried he was finding poop or dead remnants to roll in and get it on him in order to get the smelly smell of something that smells smelly onto his person, but no. He just likes it. I guess you gotta like something.
Doug was too busy mowing to notice the changes in color as he saw him rolling about.
We made some jokes about "It's not easy being green," and Doug said "you wouldn't like him when he gets angry," an homage to the Hulk. We tried to make bark and hulk work together but they didn't quite go.
A little after our discovery of St. Phineas Green of the Freshly Mown Fields, we were expecting someone to come over and pick up our snow blower. We had moved it here from Massachusetts, and we have never used it. It does not fit in the shed. Doug just wanted to give it away. We didn't want to sell it because we didn't want someone haggling with us and giving us a hard time over things. So I put it on NextDoor.com and had 5 volunteers who wanted a free snowthrower that we couldn't guarantee would work since we hadn't started it for 2 winters. We started it the first winter to make sure it ran, but ... eh? It may not anymore.
Dude's name was Grant and he was a riot. He saw the dog and had to take a selfie to show his kids. We had a great talk, he's about our age, retired military. He is from Oklahoma, and has been here 10 years with his family. We had a lot of fun talking about snow. And he said that if he gets the Barfer up and roaring, and we get slammed with snow, he'll come on by and rescue us. How nice.
Doug finished mowing the lawn, and came in. We looked at the dog. And we were pretty convinced we'd have to give him a bath because this was not just going to wear off anytime soon.
His former owner said he hates baths, so she would always smear peanut butter on the wall to keep him still. We talked about the tub, but we don't have a shower head that you can pull down and bring close like we did at the last house. It made giving Brodie a bath so easy. On top of that, I had just cleaned the bathroom on Friday, so of course the universe was setting me up for a laugh.
Nice clean bathroom. Now let's wash a dog in it.
"We can try the utility sink downstairs?" Doug suggested. I thought it sounded good - we wouldn't have to bend over, and could plug the sink to get some water surrounding him while we dumped more on him.
Overall the process was a success. Geoff gave him cookies to get him to sit still while Doug and I wet, soaped, rinsed, and rinsed, and rinsed him.
We sang the piña colada song (in the title with our new lyrics) because the dog shampoo we had was coconut (and oatmeal) so it smelled nice. And we sang that it wasn't easy being green.
Time to towel dry, and he got out and shook everywhere over and over and over. It was hysterical. So I had to mop the basement. Thank you doggo.
Glad we didn't try this in the bathroom.
He's still wet, 3 hours later. He was on his doggie bed and I covered him up to warm him, but he didn't seem to like being wrapped in a warm towel. It's just about his dinner time. So now that he's been through all that trauma, we'll feed him and love on him, and hopefully he won't go right out later and roll in the grass, again.
Or he'll just have to stay green for a while.
The poor traumatized thing.
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