The pattering against the panes pronounces today to be another muddy-dog day.
It's raining again, so this is another day in which the dog-of-small-brain will, to his dismay, require a post-walk bath. He's very good: once he's been forced into the shower cubicle, he stands with his ears slicked to his head, and his tail tucked between his legs, berating me with reproachful looks, until he's clean. Then, he retaliates by streaking to the sofa and rolling around on the cushions, kicking his legs, until he is dry. When I shout and order him off, he merely pauses to give me a look, tongue lolling over his grinning chops, which says, 'ha, that's shown you.' Between he and the children, I am horribly outnumbered.