Short bit of mild gercan.
Whatever the weather, dogs need to be walked. Aster, Blackie and Berlitz go wild with the joy of being outside in-between autumn rainshowers, chasing the leaves as the wind swirls them past their paws and, in the case of Berlitz, finding the largest, muddiest puddle possible and splashing about in it with gusto.
“You will need a bath again,” Germany tells the unrepentant hovawart when Berlitz trots over to take a break from puddle-jumping and sit panting happily at his owner’s feet. The dog is covered from neck to paws in thick, slimy mud and wet leaves, unashamedly filthy. “You have already had one bath this morning. At this rate we are going to run out of dog shampoo.”
Berlitz, who loves streaking through the house whilst still covered in bubbles with his squeaky chicken bath toy in his mouth, simply continues to look terribly pleased with himself. Aster and Blackie, at least, are being sufficiently distracted by Canada throwing a tennis ball for them across the park to jump in every puddle they see, both dachshund and german shepherd haring across the grass after the ball and skidding into leaf piles instead. Blackie successfully snatches up the tennis ball when Aster loses it under an interesting fallen tree branch, racing back off to Canada with it in his mouth for the ball to be thrown again.
Canada plays with the dogs, pretending to throw the ball before he has actually thrown it, and Aster and Blackie bark their excitement, dancing around the North American Nation once they realise he still has the ball. Germany smiles watching them - Aster has leapt up, leaving muddy pawprints on Canada’s jeans, and Canada is only laughing at him, his cheeks pink and his blond hair made a raucous mess by the wind. He doesn’t mind at all that the dogs will wreck his clothes, the damp mud and spatters of rain making wool and denim cling tight to the muscles of his chest and thighs, an attractive figure running through the autumn afternoon with two dogs leaping up around his legs.
Berlitz, either feeling neglected or being a good responsible dog and informing Germany that Germany is openly and embarrassingly obviously ogling his Nation companion, pointedly gives Germany’s nearest hand a warm, wet, and very slobbery lick.
Germany startles, and then looks down at him.
Berlitz woofs at him reprovingly.
Germany attempts to look stern as drool drips off of his hand. “…If you think this is going to stop you being put on a leash for your evening walk, you will have to think again.”
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