The man and I have decided that the dog has a split personality disorder. Her good half is Jammer, her bad/naughty/make-you-wish-you-were-never-born half is named Jeff Doucette. This name came about when we were watching the end credits of a movie and laughing about certain names. When the man said "Jeff Doucette" the dog, who was being more than a tad bit pesty, ran over to us and dive-bombed us on the couch. So begins the saga of the schizophrenic Jammer and her nasty inner demon Jeff Doucette.
Anyway, the man was gone at a tournament Sunday and I took who I thought was Jammer for a walk out back (the man lives on a dead end road that goes back into farm fields about a mile). The minute we got out of sight of the house, Jeff Doucette emerged and the dog went berserk. She was okay at first, running ahead of me for about 200 yards, then pooping and then running some more. Then, after we turned around, a pheasant flew out of a creek (aka drainage ditch) and Jeff sprung to action, galloping through the nasty, putrid shit spring of water and chasing that damned bird from the pits of hell, sent to be the bane of my existence. I proceeded to yell at Jeff, then he (she turns into a he when she is Jeff because only a penis-wielding creature can wreak so much havoc) turned to look at me, while standing neck deep in the murky algae-coated water, as if he had done nothing remotely wrong. He proceeded to trot home while I was fuming, trying to figure out how the hell I was going to get him into the house and up the stairs to the bathtub without causing a torrential downpour of dog-nasty to rain down on the house (which I had just cleaned the day before).
I played frisbee with Jeff for a bit, hoping (in vain) that some of the grossness would ooze off of him, or at least dry, before we went into the house. Alas, I had to pick the little beast up and carry him upstairs (he seems to gain weight when under the Jeff Doucette mind control). The second I put the dog into the bathtub, Jeff Doucette released Jammer from her prison. She seemed to be shocked that I would torture her by giving her a bath, particularly for wrongs that she herself did not commit. She was quite docile, though incredibly pathetic, and didn't even try to get out of the tub (as she normally does when the man and I both administer the bath time activities). After the bath I towel-dried her and set her free to frolic about the house. I then cleaned the bathroom for the second time in 24 hours. The sludge at the base of the tub was of a consistency only seen in the work horror/sci-fi movies.
Without jinxing myself, I will claim that I may have managed to exorcise Jeff Doucette from Jammer's little dog body in the bathtub as she was the picture of perfection for the rest of the day and was also quite good this morning as I prepared for work. She even followed me into the bathroom as if she had forgotten the torturous bath of the day before (she usually stays out of there for at least two weeks after she has been cleansed). I'm not sure I believe in holy water, but that bathtub faucet definitely was spewing something resembling a spirit-freeing fluid.