I am working at cleaning kennels. Blade is in the play yard with Blondie Bear. They seem to be playing gently so I am focused on my work.
Then Blade comes over and confronts me. He has blood smeared on both side of his face, “What did you DO to yourself?”
A closer look reveals it’s not welling up from him, it’s surface smears. “Did you hurt Blondie Bear?”
I checked Blondie Bear: no injuries.
What could possibly have happened? Did he kill a bird? A snake? A squirrel? A water buffalo? No, we don’t have any water buffalo. Not since it stopped raining every day.
Then it hit me: strawberries.
No, no one pelted me with fruit. But I picked strawberries last night and I tossed the way-too-ripe ones out into the yard so they wouldn’t draw slugs in the garden. I’ll bet he found one and mooshed his face in it, then came to show me how clever he was, “Look Doug, war paint!”
Okay, so, don’t toss strawberries out into the grass. Most of the dogs would just eat them. Not Blade, no: he has to turn them into body art.