(Bunny here, setting the record straight -- it feels like MUCH more than five minutes to me!)
When I go out, I try to do the humane thing and rush them back inside before they waste away to nothing out there in the mist of rain. I've never heard of a greyhound actually melting outside in the rain, but mine are convinced that they may become the first victims. Anyhow, in the back door we go and the hounds hurry in to the living room. Hawk has trouble with the back steps in his old age, so I help him maneuver up the steps and then enter the house and close the hallway door behind me.
(Bunny again, I think he fakes it! He jumped up into the back seat of the car with NO problems!)
As soon as I get in the house, it hits me! If you've ever smelled the fragrant aroma of freshly mashed dog turd, you know what I am talking about. It's a smell like no other. There is no mistaking it and even the most hard of smelling can't help but gag a little as it assaults the olfactory nerve. After turning around and going back out for a moment to clear my head, I reenter the house to find the offending foot which will need to be cleaned.
I check Hawk first, because often it is him. In his unsteady elderly state, he doesn't have a lot of grace about where his feet go. It's not him. Next, I check Lilac, since she has moments of instability herself. She's clean. Bunny has discovered a new outdoor recreation at turn out time, which is digging a hole to China, where I'm sure it's not raining. Often she comes in with clumps of mud stuck between her dainty little toes. She's not the guilty party.
(Bunny, once more -- as if I, dainty little puppy that I am, would ever step in poop! I am royalty and I tiptoe around out there to avoid such embarrassment, unlike some OTHER hounds!)
So, I call Blueberry. For some reason, she's curled up in the dog crate, her feet tucked underneath her. I call her again and she tucks her nose under her chest and sighs. Finally, I demand that she come. She looks up and gives me the serious stink eye before bedgrudginly standing and exiting the crate.
Me: Let me see your feet!
Blueberry: They're right here...
Me: (bending over her like a horse shoer, trying to lift a front foot which happens to be solidly planted on the ground.) Pick...up...your foot!
Blueberry: (shifting so that all her weight is on that foot) Which foot?
Blueberry: (sighing) Oh alright!
Me: My stars! That smells foul! How can you stand yourself? I think I'm going to pass out or be sick! We have to go back outside!
Blueberry: Oh, no! I don't think so! Just use a paper towel like you do for Hawk!
Me: He's old and he doesn't mash it up between his toes! Let's go!
Blueberry: (turning back towards the crate) It's cold out there and the water in that hose is even colder! No way!
A short wrestling match ensues with me holding on to Blueberry's collar and trying to keep her from walking over any more of the carpet. Blueberry struggles to get back into the crate. I know if she gets back in there the battle is lost and so I take a risk, letting go of her with one hand and closing the crate with it. She glares at me and then allows me to lead her reluctantly back outside. I turn on the hose and wash her foot off, spraying between her toes and lifting her foot to make sure that she's all clean. Finally, we return to the house where she promptly stalks off to the couch, since the crate is still closed, to have a good sulk and give me the serious stink eye.
Blueberry: I'll get you, my pretty, and your little dog, too!
Bunny: I'm her little dog!
Blueberry: (sigh) Just watch your shoes! And you watch yourself, whippersnapper!
Bunny: You won't hurt me! I'm too cute!
And so it goes that neither of us has really won this round. I'm not looking forward to winter and cold weather, but at least there won't be mud pie surprises anymore. There has to be an end sometime!
(Bunny, post script -- obviously, I won this round since I didn't have to go back outside!)