Folly on a theme of Dogs

Dashed home from school and did some last minute cleaning because a friend wanted to bring her husband over to see the house. I really like these friends, and they're both fantastic artists, so I wanted the house to look especially nice, because I'm vain about it, and also because I knew they'd appreciate my own particular aesthetic more than most people.

I was determined not to fall into my usual pre-visit frenzy, where I try to clean and fix everything to such a ridiculous degree that I use up all the time set aside for our daily long dog romp, and the dogs are stuck with no outing or exercise that day.

The time came. I had an hour and a half before my friends arrived, and I made myself stop bustling and get in the car. We headed out to where we hike, and ten minutes into the walk, Bosco charged into the tall grass barking. She usually doesn't bark unless she's scared of something, but I couldn't see anything through the grass except my small dog jumping straight up in the air like she was on a pogo stick.

Mrs. Beasley joined the fray, and so did Bunny. I still couldn't see anything, but I called them and kept walking, and eventually they broke away from whatever it was and caught up with me. And so did the smell. Yes. Skunk.

Of all the days to get skunked! We headed back, and a few minutes later I turned to see Mrs. Beasley on her back, flipping and flopping, rolling in manure. Yes, the dog girls were certainly going all out to get ready for our guests.

I stuffed them in the small car and rolled down the windows. As I drove home, an overture from a Rossini opera came on the radio, full of energy and frenetic dashing, pompous flourishes, and clownish folly, and it suddenly came to me that it perfectly illustrated the absurdity of my life at that exact moment. I began to laugh out loud.

They got baths outside with the hose and lots of Wood's Oil Soap, which made them fairly bearable, and me soaking wet and covered with fur. My guests were due in five minutes.

This is why I don't have to watch reality TV. My own life is a sitcom, complete with a musical score and guest stars.