Dogs will be dogs

Dogs will be dogs Published 11:13 am Friday, July 31, 2026 “Why do you suppose they do it?” I queried Paul as he was vigorously soaping Poppy’s neck in the bathtub. “What is it about a pile of horse manure, or something dead and decomposing, that acts as a magnet for a dog to roll in it?” Paul, who had been holding his breath ever since Poppy came in the front door with her neck wreathed in green, exhaled sharply and grumbled, “I don’t know, and I don’t care. But we’ve got to find a way to put a stop to this. You would think that she would figure out that the moment she comes in the door smelling like this, she ends up in the tub. She hates the tub.” “Yeah,” I replied, leaning against the bathroom door and holding a wad of towels, “but she doesn’t make the connection. Dogs have the attention span of a goldfish. She was outside for a half hour, and after she rolled in manure, she had completely forgotten about it by the time she came in. She just knows that you’ve put her in the tub for no reason.” Rinsing her for the second time, Paul said, “She knows.” I didn’t push the point further as I was grateful not to be the one whose turn it was to scrub her poo-encrusted neck. But I still don’t believe Poppy understands the equation: Poo = Tub. Just like she doesn’t understand why I shriek and come running, waving my arms, in a vain attempt to stop her from eating horse droppings, or blissfully appearing out of the woods with a rotted deer leg in her teeth. It’s the mystery of dogs, isn’t it? And I suppose there are mysteries that will never be solved. For example, how is it that both Poppy and Posey will become fragile little flowers if I give them a different flavor of their regular kibble, resulting in gastrointestinal distress similar to eating shredded lettuce, but can gorge on the most disgusting thing they might find in a field, and return to the house in radiant health with iron stomachs. Why do we scrub their water bowls daily to ensure they are sparkling clean with cool, fresh water when the moment I turn around, they are lapping up sludgy remnants around the drain in the barn wash rack? And why, oh, why, do I love them so that I hold no sins against them? I mean, I love Paul. But if Paul walked in the door, caked in manure and chewing on a deer leg, not only would he not be allowed inside, I would hold it against him for the rest of his natural life. I would return to the incident, ad nauseam, at every opportunity: “What were you THINKING? How could you be so DISGUSTING?? I don’t care if it was 20 years ago—don’t touch me!” But dogs...oh, dogs... perhaps their whole purpose is to teach us forgiveness and agape love. It’s so much easier, in practice, isn’t it, to forgive a dog over a human. Because there’s no malice in their hearts. Because they are incapable of lying. Because they are utterly faithful, loyal and loving until their last breath. Even if it stinks of poo...