Hail, Knight of Disgusting Practices...

Okay, so I get up from my 'pooter, where I had just posted an entry rhapsodizing on the wonders of dog companionship. I go outside to take care of some chores, made possible by slowly rising temperatures.

I may have mentioned that over the past several days I've been beset by numerous winter-related issues. The water is frozen, and so is the sewage. Since certain physiological processes will go on regardless of the infrastructure's capacity for dealing with them, a couple of days ago I set up the "Plan B" chair in the barn, over a plastic-lined bucket. An unpleasant alternative, but I consoled myself that human civilization plugged along nicely for millennia before indoor plumbing. This morning was the first time I had occasion to avail myself of the (COLD!) alternate facility, after which I didn't give it a thought.

Well, I had to go into the barn for some tool, and the first thing that caught my eye was that bucket, lying on its side with the plastic bag next to it. Empty. Licked clean.

The dogs are often hurt by my refusal to allow them to lick me on the face. Sorry, buckoes, but that's not negotiable. I know all too well where that tongue has been.