Even though his giver-awayers profess that Puppy Jack is the offspring of a red heeler father and a dachshund mother...I think he may have a different component in his genetic makeup.
I think Jack is part sponge.
Yesterday, after my sixth lap of the driveway, while Jack and Juno were waiting for me to walk three times around the carport to slow down (we don't have those stretchy cables like they use to catch jets on the aircraft carriers, nor the parachutes used on funny cars at the drag strip), Jack jumped over the side and ran to the fake fish pond to take a dip.
Let the record show that I heard Jack shaking off the water. He came back to the porch and shook again, spraying the boards. He left footprints on the sidewalk. He rubbed himself against the side of the Mansion, then rolled on the porch. Twice. Then shook again, nearly slapping himself silly with his tiny fold-over ears.
Here's a picture of wet Jack and dry Juno from a week ago, when he'd been creek swimming and puddle splashing.
I met the dogs around front with their snack...part of the tortilla from my Chicken Caesar Wrap at lunch, and a pack of that bacon that needs no refrigeration, with an expiration date of June 19, 2016. Let the record further show that the unrefrigeratable bacon had been in FRIG II. It still looked fine. But I'm not Farmer H, and to further protect him from himself, I figured it was about time to get rid of it.
Jack ate his snack, standing in the evening sun on the front porch. He had quit leaving wet footprints. He smelled like a fish pond, as Farmer H pointed out when he joined me. That must have offended Jack, because he ran off the porch and across the yard to the Greater Shackytown Area, where he sniffed around the chicken-feeding area for squirrel scent, then stuck his head under the Little Barbershop of Horrors where he'd holed up when we were afraid he was dying. He came back to the porch and sniffed at the tan-striped cat without making a humping attempt. Then he stood on his hind legs between my feet, his front paws on my thigh, for petting.
It was a short petting session, because Jack is a dirty smelly boy. I didn't want to smell like fish pond. But as Jack was standing upright, water began to pour from his belly fur! What in the Not-Heaven? It's like the water had a way to leak out of his undercoat when the fur was allowing a channel pointed down toward the ground. It actually made a puddle. No, Jack was NOT peeing.
When Jack got down, he walked over by Farmer H's feet and sat down to lick at his sides and belly. It sounded like he was getting a drink from a bowl of water!
I wanted to pick him up and twist him like a washcloth to see if I could squeeze more water out of him!
No wonder Jack is always so hot and wants to swim, with that permanent undercoat insulating him!