So our collie (a rescue from Alabama) is in the bathtub. He's wet. (Note to self: A wet collie always smells worse than a dry collie no matter how awful the dry collie smells.) The bath is over. He's too scared to jump out of the tub.
"Listen. Your kind has run miles to alert us of kids in wells. Your kind has pulled people from burning buildings. You can do this. You have to do this! For collie kind!"
The collie -- all shrunken and puny flat-furred as he is -- looks at me, his eyes wide, and seems to say, "I'm just me. I'm just doing the best I can."
And I get it. We are each individuals. So, yes, I reach in and pick up his sopping and heave him from the tub.
And then came the blow dryer ... true terror.