Carson's job was to guard the lights. He'd already had an exhausting day. He got a bath, which he doesn't like. I call it a spa treatment, but that doesn't make him like it any better. If you've ever bathed an uncooperative 70-pound dog, you know that he's not the only one getting wet.
He did not resist being strung with lights as much as he did the bath. But he did not like it much. Before long, he was shivering pitifully. He was cold. He wanted to go inside.
I felt sorry for him and took him back inside. I wasn't back outside 30 seconds until I heard the side door slam. That's the sound an escaping dog makes.
He made quite a recovery for someone who moments before had been quite exhausted and cold. Ran to the neighbor's field. Ran through our meadow. Ran through his best friend's back yard. Ran down the lane to the pond, up over the hill and through the hay field, back over to the pond.
I knew how this was going to end: with one of us laying in a field, panting, too tired to move. I so hoped it would be him.
And it was.
I have no photos of how the outdoor decorating turned out because I didn't get it done.
Carson got his second bath of the day.
And so did I.