So clean, it sparkles!

I love my dogs. Really, they are just wonderful. Great companions, warm and fuzzy, snuggly, smart and good watch dogs, too.
The little Princess desperately tries to avoid any dirt or puddles, and I swear to you she even wipes her feet off when she comes inside.
The big one, though, he's just some kind of stupid. Sure, he can sit, lay down, roll over, play dead, shake hands, retrieve, attack, change the oil, lift the toilet seat, and balance my checkbook. But there are certain primitive instincts I just can't rid him of. He is a guy, after all.
He was soooooo very excited to see me today. Nearly knocking me over as I walked through the door, he began with the standard : Guess what, mom! Guess what we did! We went for a run! And played ball! And Josh let me chase the car! And I went to the river!
I snuzzled him, and petted him, and rubbed my face against his and his neck as he kissed me and snuzzled me back. Such joy! Such love! What a warm reception!
Josh wandered into the room, but stopped suddenly as he yelled "Stop!"
Hey, hun. Why, what's up?
I moved to hug him hello.
He told me to go take a shower.
Then, it hit me.
That faint, acrid-yet-musty smell. The kind that seeps into your every pore and tingles your nose hairs. The type of aroma you can almost taste.
As a matter of fact, I *did* have a few stray dog hairs that had stuck to my lipstick.
Here's where you should just step away from the computer. Go ahead. Turn it off.
Because, uh, Ewwwwww.
Walking along the railroad tracks, near the river, the dog had found an irresistable pile of poo to roll around in. This wasn't just any pile of poo. This was fairly fresh people poo.
(Please do not ask me how The Boy knew this. I trust his judgement.)
Thing is, the dog did not merely sniff it and paw at it. He dove head first into it, smearing it all over his upper body and face, and massaged it into every crevice he could find. I should be so thorough with my mouisturizer.
I've had hunting dogs before that enjoy the occasional dead carcass. I've had garbage pickers who delight in rotting foodstuffs. Even the Princess has had a snack fresh from the litter box. (Crunchy on the outside, gooey in the middle! Yum!)
But this. This is just too much gross for me.
To his credit, The Boy tried his best to clean the dog. I have no more towels. The dog "looked" clean. When I washed my hands, however, the runoff was less than clear. I was gagging harder than I have gagged before. The smell lingers on.
The hose was cracked from frozen water because someone left the main faucet on before winter came. For the life of me, I CAN NOT get the beast into the tub, and, being a Sunday, the groomers aren't open. I have handy little floor drains in the basement, so we stood the dog over one, poured water on him from a pitcher, and scrubbed him with shampoo and brushes. Over and over and over again. It was even stuck inside his ear hair. His collar is in the trash. There was corn, people. Corn.
I took the longest, hottest shower I have ever had. I used three different "poofs" with antibacterial soap and I swear to god I would rather just shave my head than to put my hair on my pillow tonight. I brushed my teeth. I gargled. I brushed my teeth again. My clothes are soaking in a bleach solution. I am calling the carpet people tomorrow for a good steaming. I am taking the car to an all-service place to have the inside detailed. Josh is cleaning the basement. He has gathered all the blankets and pillows and coats and shoes the dog was near to be either burned or washed at a laundromat.
I swear I can still smell it. My skin is crawling from the the mere thought of it. A split second of lovin' turned into an all-nighter of ick.
I know they say tomato sauce takes the scent away from skunk spray. Do you think it would work with doody? Would vinegar make much of a difference? Should I just shave him? Will my doggie stylist have any magic potion to make it all go away? Will I need therapy? And who the hell takes a dump by the railroad, anyway? That's just wrong.