Instead of a photo, I'm posting the smell of whatever my Chihuahua Ginger rolled in. It's so eye-watering strong that I'm sure you can smell it. In fact, I hope the stink doesn't crash the server.
My sister's St. Bernard, Chloe, used to love to roll on fish that had been dead for days beside the lake in Texas, near where she lived. The good news: Ginger is much easier to wash than Chloe. (For those on MySpace, here's Chloe's page.)
Ginger arrived two weeks ago. I find myself cooing: "You're a pretty little girl!" Then I rear back in feminist horror and say, "Actually, you're big for a Chihuahua. And you're not a girl. You're a mother whose breeding days are over. You're strong and smart." And really stinky. (Where's the shampoo?)