About three miles before V, Seven, and I arrived at the in-laws lake home today, V cried from the backseat "I spilled! Oh!" I glanced back to see a large puddle (nearly a pool) of chocolate milk, rapidly moving toward our white dog. For some insane reason, I travel without a full sized bath towel in the front seat, so there was nothing I could do. V was upset, though, and not just because she'd lost the last cup (or more) of her chocolate milk. "Aaah!" What now? "He's DRINKING IT!" Good. Maybe he'll soak less of it into his tail that way.
But as we got out of the car, it was clear that a full half of the dog's fur was chocolatey down to the skin. Now, at our house, I probably would've toweled him off and called it good, but, you know, the in-laws might notice a chocolate milk coating on their carpet and sofa, and their two dogs would certainly notice Seven's new hairdo.
What to do? There was no choice: get V to don her swimsuit, and then toss the dog in after her. He promptly ran out, but I caught him, we washed him, and now he's all fluffy, lake-scented dogginess, with just a hint of chocolate. Yum, yum.
Happy end of summer, y'all.
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