More mud!

Out in the countryside this morning for an hour-long mud fest through woods, up hills, and over fields with an impossibly small dog. Cyril needs the exercise. He doesn't get many outings, and as a consequence his belly has grown to meet the ground - his fur dragging on the ground, picking up small twigs and debris as he travels. He badly needs this walk and almost gagged with glee at the prospect of the open path after just a few metres of freedom. Far more exciting than the garden!

It was not raining so I didn't use waterproofs or wellies, but five minutes later both dog and I were ankle deep and stomach deep respectively - in gloopy mud. But I didn't have bits of bramble stuck in my chest fur, so I think I came off better than the dog in the end.
Cyril is mostly a house dog, as stout as he is small and in need of a manicure - so we spent half the time on the pavements. He bounces along, compensating for his stunted stature by well planned hops, leaps and bounds, executed with panache and a wag of the tail. A fat black and tan sausage, he wiggles over larger logs and slides his belly over any other obstacles, he doesn’t like deeper puddles, and like a girl in sinking stilettos, paces round them tentatively. Perhaps he can't swim!
I know when he's all walked out when I see his tongue lolling and he starts to trail a little - and he no longer trips me up weaving round my legs!