Soggy

It's gray and soggy here today. It is not really rainy exactly - just sorta misty-ish. Misty enough though that when cars roll by, you can hear their tires say "squish squish splash."

Bentley and I braved the tempest earlier this morning, and upon returning home, one of us definitely smelled like a wet dog. I won't say who it was, but I will tell you that it was not me.

Whoever the smelly one was and still may be (hint: Bentley), he was a bit embarrassed by the fact.

Scratch embarrassed, incensed is a better word. He hates to be soggy. If the truth were known, I think he rather hates being a dog - prefers to consider himself some sort of high king of everything.

 The face of a crazy tyrant, don't you think so?

Even old King Nebuchadnezzar never looked this raving. Bentley is just lacking the feathers.

So, on days like today, when the obvious is glaringly stinky, he hides out. He thinks that he is hiding anyway.

His public mustn't see him like this. 

Yep, he's in there. I can hear him licking his wounds.

The degradation of being wet and stinky coupled with the inevitable bath that is coming next is just too much to be borne.