Jobi was usually a well-behaved little pup—usually. But that morning, as the sunshine peeked over the backyard fence and the scent of freshly watered soil drifted through the air, something switched on inside him. A spark. A calling. A deep, instinctive urge that every mischievous dog feels at some point in life—the irresistible desire to jump face-first into mud.
Dad, meanwhile, had very different plans. He stood on the porch with a leash in one hand and a towel in the other, calling out cheerfully, “Come on, Jobi! Time for your bath!”
Jobi froze. His ears perked. Bath? That terrifying word echoed dramatically through his doggy brain. Absolutely not. Not today. Not when the mud puddle at the edge of the yard looked so deliciously gooey.
With a determined wiggle, Jobi darted across the yard.
“Jobi! Get back here!” Dad shouted, breaking into a sprint.
What followed was a chase so dramatic it could’ve been set to action-movie music. Jobi zigged. Dad zagged. Jobi doubled back under the patio table. Dad tripped over the garden hose with a thud that made a nearby squirrel laugh. Jobi shot forward like a furry rocket and beelined straight toward his target: the glorious, shining, perfect mud pit.
He hesitated for only half a second—just long enough to make eye contact with Dad, who mouthed silently, Don’t you dare.
He dared.
With a spectacular leap worthy of a slow-motion replay, Jobi launched himself into the mud. SPLAT! Mud flew everywhere—on the grass, on the fence, and most impressively, across Dad’s clean shirt as he arrived just in time to receive the splash.
Jobi didn’t care. He wiggled. He rolled. He shoved his snout into the mud like he was digging for buried treasure. His tail wagged so hard he nearly spun himself in a circle. Pure, unfiltered joy radiated from him.
Dad stood there, panting, covered in brown splatters, and muttered, “I just washed this shirt…”
Jobi, sensing he might be in trouble, paused—and then offered his best peace offering: a big, muddy doggy grin.
Dad sighed, defeated. “Well… I guess bath time’s happening anyway.”
Jobi barked happily, splashing one more paw into the mud for good measure.
After all, life is short, baths are long, and mud—glorious mud—is always worth the chase.
