Shea and I went for a nice long evening run. It was so nice out today (60 degrees) that all of the snow melted. While certainly refreshing after a long winter, running for about an hour on the newly thawed sidewalks does have it repercussions.
The main one, maybe the only one really, is the simple combination of mud and a white dog. They don't mix well. My plan was to bring Shea immediately into the basement to clean him off when we got back home. However, the water part of that darn watermelon I had eaten before going out had run through me. There was no way I would have time to clean him off without the water escaping. So, I had to make a decision. Either I bring him downstairs and piss myself at the age of 27, or I hit up the bathroom on the way inside and risk the house getting a little extra mud in it.
I chose the latter. As I quickly peed, still hanging onto Shea by his leash, I thought I was in the clear. The habit of washing my hands is what hurt me here. I took the time to do that, and that is when Shea decided to shake himself clean. Shake himself clean all over the back door and the kitchen floor.
I wasn't super excited about this, but I felt as though I could clean it up and still be able to sleep at night. If I had decided the other fate, I would have a hard time facing myself in the mirror.
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