Son of a Beach. Now, with extra gross!
Moo and I went for a walk today and ended up at the beach, because yesterday when I was walking on our usual path I think I heard a gunshot. Maybe. It was loud. In any case it was loud and foreboding and my mind went places and saw things and holy crap, Moo, what say we turn around and cut this walk a little short? So I found a new route which, yes, technically goes as far north as I was walking yesterday but is on the other side of the highway and a park and therefore safer somehow? But no gunshots or other loud noises today, so maybe all the hooligans were using silencers today. But based on my extensive tv knowledge of guns, silencers still make a pshhht sound, and I didn't hear anything like that. So, safe.
But remember how I was talking about the beach? Technically I don't think dogs are allowed on the people beach, but since it's April and 46 degrees and other people were doing it, that made it okay. I let Moo off her leash and we walked towards the water, one of us realizing that sneakers are not the best sand footwear and the other of us maniacally chasing after seagull shadows. We investigated the water (cold, alternately scary then interesting then scary then interesting), a golden retriever (only interested in stealing our tennis ball) and a dead fish (dried out, its final resting place a bed of wood chips and its own intestines).
We played fetch for a while and chased more seagulls. She's really improving; I only had to yell, "Moo! MOO! LEAVE IT! MOO! GET BACK HERE!" two or three times before she'd come tearing back. Thank you, puppy classes.
Moo is very fond of her tennis ball. Fond bordering on obsessive. I bought a Chuckit! because it looked fun and also because I am a terrible, terrible thrower. Throwist. Person who throws. I'm not a good one. As soon as the ball is in the launcher, Moo is rapt. On the return trip, though, she's a little more lax, so I get distracted. I was staring at the water or texting or something. Moo frequently drops the ball to sniff around or tear the hell out of tissues she finds on the ground, which I find to be one of her more distasteful habits. Not the most distasteful, however. She has a new most distasteful habit because when I looked up from whatever I was distracted by, I saw her rolling - with gusto - on the dead fish. The world slowed. "NoOOOOoooOOO!" I waved my arms and ran at her, stopping her mid-dive. "LEAVE IT! LEAVE!!! IT!!!!!" But it was too late. What I had thought was a dried husk of a fish was actually a dried husk of fish filled, Gusher-style, with rotting, pinkish fish goo. Moo's exuberant rolls had caused this foul liquid to ooze out of some weak point in the fish's anatomy - somewhere near where the intestines had been torn out, if I had to guess. And she had been rolling in it.
Fan. Tastic.
Panic mode. I am miles from home. I have a goo-smeared dog and a four foot leash. Assets? I am on a beach, surrounded by water. Unfortunately it's too cold and gross to wade in, dunk the dog and rinse the fish goo back to its natural habitat. Also, I remember when I was at Valpo and we'd go to the Dunes and the water would be closed because it was contaminated. So, that's out. But, hey, we're on a beach! There's showers on the beach so people can wash the sand and guts off of themselves before they leave for home. We headed back inland, playing fetch all the way. As she ran, the goo-smeared fur flopped wetly back and forth. Disgusting, but not as disgusting as how she smelled when I had to get closer to hook her leash on her collar. Like... the diapers of a monkey that is fed exclusively on a diet supplied by Starkist. Please let the showers be on. I don't want to bring this mess home. I tapped the touch plate to turn on the foot spray. Nothing. Tapped on the shower plate. Nothing. I tapped on every damn plate on that shower pole. Nothing, nothing, nothing, all while Moo sniffed around looking for more dead flesh to roll in. Drinking fountains! Shut up, I was desperate. That's the kind of stuff you should imagine happens in drinking fountains anyway, as they are gross. They're also not on in April, dammit.
I had resigned myself to walking home with stink-dog when I saw a bathroom building. Oh yes, this is happening. The whole place smelled like pee, which honestly was a welcome change from the pink ooze. I scooped up the dog and put her in... well, on the sink.
Yeah, they were a little shallow. And small. And that one on the left may have been the source of the pee smell. Whatever. This had to happen. Using the push-and-get-two-seconds-of-water faucets, I splashed her with ice cold water, then grabbed a paper towel and a few hundred pumps of hand soap and went for it. I scrubbed til it was no longer pink then went back to splashing water on the offending area. Then I put her on the floor, washed my own hands and continued our walk. A full bath would happen, but this would do for now.
She got significantly fewer compliments on the way home, but we made it. And then it was turbo bath time, with three shampooings.
*And oh holy shit, I was just looking at the pictures again thinking about adding some writing and realized that the fish? That looked so dry and fishy? WAS ACTUALLY A DEAD RAT. The intestines were its tail. Oh, God. This dog sleeps in my BED. I have to rethink our entire relationship. And also go throw up. Forever.
**It was rat goo, you guys. Rat goo. (whimper.)
