What in the holy Hannah is going on in here???

I'll admit that my approach to housework is extremely casual. I do not believe in being a slave to the house. If the health department has not been called in to quarantine the place and condemn the house entirely, then I'm good.

The floor IS mopped, the counters are reasonably free of clutter, or at least as free as they can expect with a college student, a genealogy freak and a part time culinary 'expert' making the counter a wasteland for various projects.

But this morning, sometime between the breakfast and saying goodbye to Jared for the bus, our resident canine tried something new.

She was rinsing her feet in her water bowl.

DO WHAT???

Just what in the holy Hannah is going on in here, dog?!?!?!

There was water all over the floor in front of her bowls and her feet were wet up to the hocks, ankles, wrists... whatever the heck it is you call that part of the dog's leg.

She didn't appear to be too unhappy that I discovered her 'fancy footwork'... until I got out the mop.

She hates the mop. It removes her 'artwork'.

Gypsy views her muddy paw prints, soggy dribblings and fur as a 'shared blessing'.

I believe, if given the choice, Gypsy would carpet every room in the house with 'tumblefurs'... you know, those little wads of dog fur that get under every piece of furniture and which, without "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!", would overtake the entire house.

It goes without saying that in her vision of household perfection, she would have a dedicated area to toss her dry food around. She has this habit of trying to 'bury' her food and as a result, despite endless hours of trying to correct her behavior, I sweep up bits and kibble from the area around her bowl. Too cheap to toss it out, I pick out the bits of fur and other detrious that is in the dustpan and redeposit the food in her bowl for later eating, which actually DOES occur.

But today, I must admit, the foot rinsing caught me off guard. It's not like she never gets bathed. She does. We have a lovely set of mismatched towels just for her.

Apparently, running the fenceline barking violently at the neighbor dog and showing him just how 'tough' she is made her tootsies a little hot. So she rinsed them.

In the absence of any other plausible reason for why her feet were all comfortably drenched in the cool and previously fresh water in her bowl wasn't forthcoming. Those of you who have dogs know what I am saying... they just aren't real newsy when it isn't in their best interest. And despite all of my training and Rick's training and Thomas' training to this little girl, she knows when to hold 'em and when to fold 'em in the communications department.

I'm sure that we will make up later on. Right now Gypsy is sulking. I had the nerve to clean up her 'art work'.

Get over it, little girl!

When the National Gallery calls for an exhibition, then we'll talk about it.

But in the meantime, I'm left to wonder why, on a day when the temperatures hover in the 30degree range, it seemed like such a good idea to rinse her feet in the water bowl.

Some questions may just never get answered in this life.

Maybe I should apply for a government grant to study the phenomena... they did give a multi-million dollar wad-o-cash to someone to study cow flatulence...