When spoken over the phone by my wife, the phrase "when you get home…" is always a harbinger of bad news. "When you get home…" is always followed by something like "…can you mow the lawn?" or "…I need you to fix the leaky drain pipe" or maybe "…they delivered our new freezer today, can you carry it upstairs?" Just once, it would be nice to hear "when you get home, there will be a giant ice cream cake waiting for you."

On Thursday, I called home from the office to make sure we had everything we needed for dinner. Jen told me we did, and then continued "when you get home…(pause)…can you give Barrett a bath?" Turns out Jen had been out with the dogs for their afternoon exercise, when Barrett found something that was either dead or regurgitated, or possibly both, lying in the yard. Like any smart hound, Barrett decided the best course of action was flop on the ground and roll around in it until the scent was thoroughly embedded in her coat.

Why some dogs feel the need to bathe themselves in the smelliest things they can find has always perplexed me. I had a friend in Vermont whose dog had a habit of tracking down carcasses in the woods and rolling in them until he was coated in guts. Personally, I have an easier time with the idea that the deer turds my dogs love to eat are actually delicious than I do with Barrett’s reaction of "hey that stinks, I should cover myself with it so I can smell it all the time!"

When I pulled into the driveway, there she was, waiting in the pen with a stupid grin on her face, looking happy as a pig in you-know-what. I won’t try to describe the scent coming off her body. Just trust me that it’s something you would never want inside your house.

The one consolation for me was that Barrett waited until it was warm enough for her first outdoor bath of the year. She begrudgingly held still in the kiddie pool while I hosed her down and worked a generous helping of apple-scented shampoo through her coat. Barrett, perhaps the only Labrador retriever in the world who hates being wet, bolted from the pool as soon as we were done. She sprinted laps around the yard, alternately shaking drops of water from her fur and rubbing herself against the concrete foundation of our house.

The bath put a charge into Barrett for the rest of the night. She was still pacing around the house long after Remy had fallen asleep on the couch. I was happy to deal with all the craziness once she lay down next to smelling of apples rather than yard waste and death. Now if only I could do something about her breath…