Bad Mom, Bad Dog

Faith is my reliable dog. She’ll run a few feet, sniff and look back to make sure that I’m still in sight. When I call her, she’s at my side in the blink of an eye. It was unusual when she disappeared into the woods. After a few minutes of yelling, rising anxiety more about my time schedule than her safety, she came trotting out of the woods with the biggest, proudest doggy smile. As she approached, an odor of rotting flesh filled my nose and I realized that Faith was covered in some indeterminate brown, stinky, sticky muck. It matted her fur and was caked in her collar. She was also covered in the sharp jaggers that are impossible to remove without trimming her fur.