They dug around in the yard until they found the water line, and then while I wasn’t looking they somehow tapped into it, then dug a narrow trench across the yard and past the old rock walkway, and then connected it up with a line they’d put into the foundation last year.
But that’s not my point. The point is this …
After they’d finished, I took them to the Pizza Factory for pizza and beer. While I was there, a fellow called me from Jerusalem, but no, it wasn’t Jesus, and that’s another story anyway.
(When I was a child, sometimes when I’d make mischief, a grown-up would ask me, “If Jesus was here, do you think he’d act like that?” To this day, I do not know what Jesus would have done. It seemed, sometimes, that yes, he would have done the very same thing. Of course, these days, when I ponder about this, it raises questions such as what kind of cell phone would Jesus prefer? Would he watch television? If so, would he prefer Survivor? American Idol? The Simpsons? You see? It’s very difficult to figure out what Jesus would do. And why those grown-ups thought a little kid could figure it out … well, it’s just beyond me.)
So there we were, eating pizza and drinking beer, and then they went off to some other project. I went home and looked at the yard. The trench was all filled in. Great. Life goes on.
Now over the week, the dirt in the trench has sunk in some. No problem. But it’s also blown around a fair amount, and so today I had put a dog bowl outside because Daisy looked thirsty, and since I had the hose and water, I thought I’d water down the dusty ground where the trench had been, so that the powdery dust wouldn’t blow around so much.
Well!
Daisy thought that watering was the greatest thing since bones.
She was chasing the flying spout of water. I began leading her on, spraying the water here and there while she chased it, trying to bite it.
I laughed and laughed as she ran and snapped, and she’s getting wetter and wetter and wetter.
Finally, I took pity on her and stopped. She was now muddy from her toes to her belly, her white fur showing off the mud really, really well.
We went back into the shop where I had some little task, and she was tracking mud all over. That’s fine. It’s a shop.
A little later I realized she might get cold so I fetched a towel and dried her off as best I could, but I couldn’t get the black-colored mud off her feet and legs.
Now here comes the puzzle —
Later, when she’d dried off, her feet and fur weren’t dirty.
She was a white dog again. In fact she seemed cleaner than before.
Now what’s puzzling me is this:
Where did the dirt go?
