It fell unexpectedly on me and her
I’d almost forgot feeling rain in my fur,
I haven’t been rained on for so long you see,
I don’t think she liked it though, ‘tween you and me…
We’d had a quick walk before dawn, as we do,
It wasn’t as summery as hitherto,
But still rather pleasant out there in the fields
Where I sniff the morning to see what it yields.
Although it was Sunday, we still had to work,
“No rest for the wicked,” says she, ” We can’t shirk…”
So she goes to her job, while I guard the house,
Protecting the place against postman and mouse.
But, when she gets back and I do my ‘James Bond’,
I detect that she’s doused herself in ‘eau de pond‘,
She doesn’t look happy. “Oh writer, a walk?
And when you’ve stopped growling, perhaps we can talk…”
She got out the leash, and we went on our way,
For once it was rather a dull, cloudy day.
She looked a bit chilly in thin summer clothes
But I paid it no heed as I followed my nose.
She had neither coat, nor a cloak, nor a cap on
When miles from our home the sky-god turned the tap on…
I bounded through grass that was heavy with rain
But she said,”Come on, girl, let’s get home again.”
I loitered as much as I could, it is true,
But when she was shivering and turning blue
I took pity on her and headed for home,
‘Cos, honest, she looked like a wizened old gnome…
“I’m aching and dripping, I’m cold and I’m soaked,”
“You smell really good though,” I said and she choked.
“I’m smelling of pond-water, wet dog and mud,
You’ve got awful taste if you think that smells good!”
I did, but observing her tone and her expression,
I thought I should exercise canine discretion
And bounded ahead on the last homeward stretch…
Perhaps I could cheer her up by playing fetch?
She dried me, and cleaned up the drips so that I
Could sit out on the doorstep and watch the clouds fly.
Around her, her skirts left a lake at her feet,
“Oh Wet Dog,” she said,”you’re not smelling too sweet…”
That normally means that I’m due for a bath
And considering how wet we were, that’s a laugh.
But, just in case, I thought I’d better cower
When I heard her turn on that horrible shower.
But no, I was safe, it was her she was dousing
With all the efficiency of a delousing.
She scrubbed with the lemony, flowery stuff
Till… at least for her taste… she felt fragrant enough.
I don’t understand it, and I know I oughta
But given the groaning, she cannot like water,
She’d already soaked in the pond and the rain…
And come home all dripping… to get wet again?
I don’t understand her obsession with ‘clean’
I hid in the corner, in case she felt mean…
“I’m not sure I’m liking this ‘eau de wet dog’…”
“If you want to bath something… go catch a frog!”