Dirt Nite got cancelled last night. Because actual water fell from the sky.
Was I sad when I plucked my phone out of my heavy jacket's kleenex pocket with shivering, damp fingers, to receive this news at work? Which I heard while watching the big black clouds come rolling right at me from across the hills while I was busy tucking horses into their extra warm nighttime jammies? Thanked the nice man for the news, spraying disease from my sniffling sinuses and hacking throat back onto my germy little phone, tucked back into my germy, dirty pocket.
Sad to hear that I didn't have to drag in an entire course worth of agility stuff from out of the trailer, up the little muddy hill in the rain in air that might even spit ice balls at my head? Drag finger pinching metal bases and dogwalk planks and 20' tunnels and the a-frame which used to be dirty and now, muddy? And then stand around in parkas yelling over rain pounding the covered arena roof, then running around listening to barking which is even louder than the metal roof noise, then drag all the dirty, muddy, finger pinching stuff back down the little muddy hill back into the trailer in the dark?
That instead of all this and more, I would just go home to my house which has a heater and maybe even a can of lowfat minestrone soup with my name on it?
Wouldn't a good agility person be sad? Weeping?
Yeah. And shouldn't all sarcasm be gently wiped off the rainbow by the smiling unicorn family?
6 comments:
On rainy nights when I have too much to do but the dogs are going nuts from neglect, I'm torn between hoping class will be canceled and praying that it won't be. And sucking down the reduced-sodium chicken noodle soup.
Well, if we had had class last night I might have just ignored poor Ariel who needed to run around and wear herself out at Dirt Night last night and then I might NOT have guilt-tripped myself into driving her in my car to the beach, when we usually walk there, but I was tired from work and my back hurts from sitting all day and not getting the exercise I needed at Dirt Night, and then I might have NOT walked back through Lighthouse Field with her off-leash, and then she might NOT have rolled in what TSD so delicately terms HOT MAN SHIT, and then I might not have spent one hour in the shower with her because, well, I sympathized when TSD had this experience, but let me tell you there's a BIG difference between a small dog short-haired dog who had rolled in HOT MAN SHIT, and a medium-sized dog with a SERIOUS UNDERCOAT who has rolled in HOT MAN SHIT, like maybe 30 POUNDS of dog difference, and 5 pounds of HAIR difference. So State of California. You win. I'm never going there again, and you didn't even need to send the Rangers to give me a ticket. Way to go State! I'm really sorry that I ever made fun of your big bureaucracy, the motto of which is "Yes We Can't!" Yes you can, and you sure showed me. Gag. Gag. Gag.
And now my back is REALLY killing me from bending over in the shower washing and washing Ariel until the water got cold and our teeth were chattering. Well, hers weren't, but let me tell you, she could not figure out what the hell she had done to deserve three applications of shampoo, and me muttering like a maniac, trying to sniff her wet body to make sure all traces of HMS were gone.
So, next time, can we have the damn Dirt Night?
Oh no!
I usually use the tie the dog up in the driveway and hose down with cold water for a long time before bringing into the bathtub method. Yes, rolling in hot man shit a definite plus to have a 14lb short haired dog and for them to do it during warm weather.
So yes. Next time we will just have Dirt Nite.
I use the hose outside, too. Oh, well, it's cold and dark and wet, but then the dog would be willing to plunge into a cold stinky stream if it was in the mood so I don't feel too bad. Plus I don't have to go through what Mary's gone through.
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