I've always said that sometimes God has to swipe me upside the back of the head with a 2x4 to get me going on certain tasks or in taking certain steps in my life.  (My friend Susan seems to get a good chuckle out of that concept...but I think she just likes the idea of hitting me with a 2x4, personally.)  While I'm a pretty organized individual, there are *blush* certain things that I'll let slide if I can.

For instance, bathing a dog who is not particularly dirty.  See, I have an 85 pound dog.  Not an easy animal to lift...let alone when you've only got about 30 pounds on her yourself.  And she gets car sick, so taking her to the groomer (even when money wasn't an option, which it definitely has been the past year or so) is neither fun nor easy.  So, barring the presence of any doggy funk, she has been periodically brushed and wiped down with those lovely scented doggy bath wipes from PetSmart and I called it good.

However, I've known for some time that she probably really should have a real bath.  My best friend even brought me a bottle of pet shampoo because I mentioned it several times (in the context of "man, I really should wash her, but I don't know if I can lift her!" type conversations).  This is, of course, my friend who does not procrastinate in washing her pets and does it monthly, if not more frequently, and even has extra bottles of pet shampoo sitting around to pass on to slackers like myself who are busy alphabetizing their CDs and reorganizing their pantry and pretending that life is wonderful.  (Yes, that was sarcasm.  Shush.)

Anywho, all that changed last night when I let the dog in while I was cooking dinner and could not figure out, a few minutes later, where this horrendous smell of rotting something or other came from.  I was walking around the house sniffing at my cabinets, heater vents, and even my poor Kidling (who was trying to tell me that it was the dog, and I was ignoring her, since she tells me the dog stinks at any time that she just doesn't want the dog near her).

Alas, the Kidling was right.  As she very correctly informed me, said heavy-weight champion of the mutt world decided that since she wasn't let in quickly enough that evening, she would roll in some pumpkins that were sitting on the porch to go into the compost bin. 

Yes, roll in pumpkins...until they were FLAT.  Eeeew.  Thatsa lotta punkin, folks.

Thankfully I was able to get help getting her into the bathtub.  Said dog now smells like, well, let's just say she's clean and doesn't smell like compostable pumpkin. 

Note to self: go buy some of that purty smellin' dog shampoo from PetSmart next time you're there, and wash the dog prior to being accosted by squished gourd pulp.

Secondary note to self: you realized the other day that the retractable leash is almost 7 years old and is on its last legs.  Go, today, and buy a new collar and leash.  She deserves it.  And so do you!  You know you're sick of looking at those raggedy old things.  Get them while at pet store buying perfumed dog suds.  TODAY.

(PS  Stop talking to self on blog.  It makes people snicker.

Loudly.)