Behold my dog: he answers to nobody. Least of all me. For your enjoyment, I now present, "Ozzy: A Dog in Three Acts."
Act I: The Time: Late afternoon. The Place: Duboce Park. The sun in shining, dogs are running around and generally being dogs.
Ozzy: (Internal monologue) Look at that huge puddle full of unidentifiable, nasty smelling sludge! I will go roll vigorously in it. (Rolls vigorously in puddle)
Act II: The Time: Immediately after the events of Act I.
Deborah: Ozzy! Get out of there!! (Runs, as if in slow motion, toward the stinky puddle. Realizing that it is way too late to stop the process of dog stinkification, stops, shoulders slumped, and sighs. Ozzy continues vigorous rolling.)
Deborah: Damn you, Ozzy.
Act III: The Time: Immediately after the events of Act II.
(Ozzy trots over to where Deborah stands, and obediently sits down in front of her, blinks.)
Ozzy: (Internal monologue) That was the most fun I've had all week.
Seriously, that one made the top 3 of nasty Ozzy-rolling-in-something-gross smells. Worse than horse poop, not as bad as dead seal. These pictures don't do it justice, but try to imagine my horror and dismay anyway:
Still, every cloud has a silver lining, and now he smells like Aveda Rosemary Mint shampoo.