Sunday was bath day (for the dogs, that is) and that means Beckham did his usual burst out the bathroom to roll on anything fabric-y, in this case the comforter on the bed where he rolled around, barked (shrilly, I might add) and acted the all-around fool. Fenway took this to mean ‘play’ and there was great cavorting/biting/wrasslin’/barking for… minutes. I don’t know why we just don’t cover the bed with towels before the bath, but we’re kind of stupid that way. Later there were damp dogs spread out on the couches in the sun because, when you’re a basset in our house, life is good.

Honest. We don’t treat human guests this well, which is probably for the best because I have little desire to give them baths.  Okay, maybe  a light scrubbing, but no loofahs. I mean, this isn’t the Caribbean fercryinoutloud….

Dogs.