Really intended this entry to be about Youngest Son and Wife's Godson's confirmation yesterday, but something else came up. Notes on the church will have to wait.

Have waxed on quite a bit about the wonderful attributes of heelers. With good reason. But have never really touched upon their negative points (there aren't many).

But this one can sometimes be a pain.

Heelers have anal glands.

Now, that's no big deal in and of itself, since I believe all dogs have anal glands. Two little glandular sacks, one on each side of the anus. Used to impart that dog's particular, individual aroma to whatever may come out of that orifice.

The scent makers for dogshit, as you will.

Now wild canids also have the ability to eject, or spray those glandular secretions out of their asses whenever terribly excited or scared. Most domestic dogs cannot. One of our Bostons used to get her glands "impacted", i.e. plugged and swollen full, from lack of use. Requiring my Mom and Dad to manually "express" (i.e. empty) those glands.

Our first heeler was not purebred, and she also got that problem later in life. And I got the pleasure of periodically manually buggering that poor dog.

But pure heelers are not that far removed from their dingo ancestors.

They can still spray. Like a skunk, just not the range.

Yielding what in our pack is known as "spray butt."

Say "spray butt" in our house, and all three heelers slink to cover, whether they've sprayed themselves or not. To avoid the impending butt wash with soapy water and paper towels.

Now, spray does not smell like dogshit. Think of it as concentrated essence of dogshit. More foul musk, less shit.

Why do I bring this up this morning?

Because I'm doing laundry. Because I pulled up on the wrong side of the road to visit with a friend on his ATV, who was visiting with a neighbor out raking his lawn.

A neighbor who had his little shih-tsu type of dog out loose. Who came over to see the heelers hanging out the window.

My window. As in, they were standing on my lap.

And then suddenly backed off sheepishly, leaving little brown foamy droplets on my right sleeve and right thigh.

Conversation over. I have to go.

My friend asked if the heeler threw up on me.

Hell, yes. That's a better story to have going around this small town than to let everybody know what the masked heeler actually did spray on me.

"Yeah, she threw up on me. I gotta go clean up."

Good thing he wasn't close enough to the window to smell it.