Guess who has had three baths in three days?

 Gabe, that's who! 

I've hung four loads of clothes on the clothesline today.  I usually let Gabe go out with me; he likes to go back into the pasture behind the house and sniff around, digging at molehills and such.  However, I got involved today in hanging the last batch of clothes and forgot to keep my eye on him, and he pulled another disappearing act.  I told Cliff, "He's probably down at the ditch, and he'll likely need a bath when he returns."

It turned out to be a prophecy.  After twenty or thirty minutes he showed up at the front door, wanting in.  "Stop," I said to him.  "Let me smell your back.!"

He acted sheepish and tried casually strolling away, but I caught up and sniffed his back, which is normally where the most stink is concentrated due to him laying on his back, feet in the air, wriggling around... totally in love with the smell of death.  But no, his back still smelled like the soap I'd used on him yesterday... had I gotten a reprieve?  

Then I got wind of the same putrid odor he had on him yesterday and realized it was coming from his face.  I didn't have to get too close to that nasty beard to verify the fact that he'd no doubt been EATING the nastiness.  Meanwhile he made a run for his cage and went to the farthest back corner of it.  I grabbed the back of the kennel and tipped it forward, which got him out of hiding.  

So he's clean again.  I have resolved to keep bathing him every time he comes home stinking.  Maybe he'll figure out why I'm doing it and eventually become a classy dog.

Wish me luck on that.  It isn't over until the farts come, which will probably be about the same time the Chiefs start playing tonight.  Just in case, I'm laying a book of matches close by.

The most humiliating part?  I'm pretty sure Cliff thinks it's funny, him and his smart remarks.  

"Get a dog, she said.  It'll be fun."

Hmph.