How I turned several shades of gray—in an instant!

Emulating Harry.

An orange truck sizzled against green grass that stretched to the horizon. A group of musclebound workers packed up, admired their handiwork creating new striping on the soccer field, and prepared to drive off.

That's where I entered this cliche and broke it right open.

My nose led me straight to the wide, bright white sideline stripe. I stopped, dropped and rolled. And rolled. And rolled.

When I got up, I looked like  Harry the Dirty Dog before he got dirty. Remember that Gene Zion classic? Where he was white with black patches and turned black with white patches, I became a dirtyish kind of gray. So much so that a neighbor thought I had suddenly aged. I am graying, a bit, at the temples, if you look very closely, but really! I'm only five.

Harry and I have a lot in common: we both prefer not to be groomed. However, our escapades ended with the same four-letter word: B-A-T-H.

Allowed inside again.