The Dog. Or in my real mind... The Dawg.

I'm from the midwest.  My dad drove an El Camino and my brother and I remember road-trips where we sat behind the seats with the car jack and our snoopy sleeping bags.  We had a dawg dog named Lickety Split.  One year my family had hogs and it was my brother's turn to name them before we slaughtered them... He named them after me and my childhood BFF (They were delicious).  My first job (other than babysitting when I was like 10 - please note that the idea of my 9 year old babysitting another child in a year IS TERRIFYING.  And I was taking toddlers on my mom's bike - she had a babyseat on the back of her ADULT bike that I would borrow to transport another CHILD.  Made out of barbed wire flimsy plastic. - when I was like 11).  I digress.
My first job was as a corn detassler. 

Most people at this point say "Wha?"

And I say "yes."

So the last time I had a dog.  Well.  It's almost never.  I mean... My family had Lickety Split (let's be honest.  It was my Dad's Dog.  Not mine.  Not the family's).  Then later we had a little Bichon (and I will punch anyone in throat who dares to say she was not a "real" dog.  I mean really.)  But again... Not my dog.  I can promise you (and my mother will READILY agree that I never did ANYTHING to help take care of that dog.  ANYTHING).  In my lame defense, I don't think I was the driving force in getting that dog.  FYI.

But now.  NOW.  Guess who has a dog? 

A real dog.  (sort of.  I mean.  It's a terrier.  Still smallish.  I will still gladly punch anyone in the throat who disagrees.  And while we're talking about punching people in the throat - what a fabulous visual that is!  Don't you agree?  So violent.  So concise!  I doubt I could ever follow through, but with a toss out threat like that, you certainly don't want to find out do you?  Much better than "ooooooh.  stop it or I'll do something... eh.... oohhhh."  I am not a fan of bullying btw.  I am a fan of descriptive foreshadowing however)

So we have a dog! 

And today the dog got a bath.  Because the dog had rolled around in chicken poop.  Because we have chickens, and the door to the chickens was left open.  And the chickens got out and pooped on the back deck.  And the dog - who loves to roll around in chicken poop obviously - got poop ALL AROUND his neck. 

The real irony of this is that I have meant, been planning, threatening, been thinking about giving the dog a bath for several days now.  The chicken poop sent me over the edge, having me grab for the big red party bucket and my 2 piece in a matter of minutes. 

Equipped with the red bucket and some homemade oatmeal dog shampoo (I am not making this up.  Welcome to my world.  I do shit like make my own dog shampoo.  I swear I'm fun to be with though.  SWEAR)  I wash the dog.  And FREAKING laugh that I'm washing my dawg, in some daisy duke swimmy shorts because the dog rolled in chicken poop.

You can take the girl outta the country......  But she'll make some ho-made dog shampoo.....