Rolling in a Mud Puddle 10/10. The Bath After 1/10!🤣😬
There are very few things in life that bring as much unfiltered joy to a dog as discovering a fresh, squishy, glorious mud puddle. For Teddy, that moment came on a sunny afternoon after a rare summer rain. The sun peeked through the clouds, the grass sparkled with droplets, and in the middle of the yard, like a glistening invitation, lay the perfect mud puddle. To a human, it was a mess waiting to happen. But to Teddy, it was paradise.
Without hesitation, he bounded toward it like a rocket launched on a mission. His golden fur shimmered in the light—at least, it had shimmered. Within seconds, he had leapt into the puddle with the grace of a ballet dancer and the power of a wrecking ball. Mud flew in every direction. He rolled on his back, kicked his legs in the air, and let out a satisfied groan that could only mean: This is the life.
His tail wagged furiously as he dove snout-first into the goo, emerging with a smile that stretched ear to ear and clumps of mud stuck to his nose. His fur, once a clean and silky golden, was now fifty shades of brown. Paws? Gone. Legs? Disappeared into a camouflage of earth tones. Even his eyebrows had somehow managed to get muddy.
From his perspective? 10/10. Would roll again.
Then came the turning point.
From the porch came the ominous sound of a door creaking open. A silhouette appeared, holding… the dreaded towel. Teddy froze. He knew what was coming. All the joy drained from his face as he tried to make a slow, sneaky escape behind the bushes. But it was too late. The bath had been summoned.
Dragged gently but firmly into the bathroom, Teddy tried every trick in the book—big puppy eyes, sudden limp limbs, even the “I’m just going to sit here and pretend I don’t exist” routine. But nothing worked. Into the tub he went.
The water turned brown instantly. Teddy sighed deeply, glaring at the faucet like it had personally betrayed him. His ears drooped. His legs splayed. Soap was lathered, suds formed, and he gave the occasional exaggerated groan as if to say, Why must I suffer for my art?
And the towel-dry afterward? That was just the final insult. He shook furiously, splattering water across the room, and then bolted out of the bathroom like he was being chased by a swarm of bees. He zoomed down the hallway, rubbing himself along the walls, the carpet, the couch—anything to reclaim a little of his lost scent.
To Teddy, the bath was a horror. A betrayal. A 1/10 experience at best. Maybe a 0 if the water was a little too warm. But even after all of that, as he laid in his bed, freshly cleaned and fluffier than ever, he gave a small, content huff.
Because deep down, he knew something important: the mud puddle was worth it.
So tomorrow, or the next rainy day, when the clouds break and the yard is a minefield of slush and splatter, you better believe Teddy will be out there again. Rolling, wriggling, and reveling in the mud. Because for him, the joy of a muddy adventure will always be a 10/10… no matter what bath follows after.
