I understand that death is a mysterious and exhilarating event for you. It provides an olfactory playground second only to the smell of a particularly fragrant and gaseous canine anus. I am not unsympathetic to your desire to inspect and sniff that which is deceased. I will even be so generous as to allow for some discreet nibbling.
However, when you roll, repeatedly onto the decaying bones of what I strongly suspect had formerly been one odocoileus virginianus, I become upset. As I bellow for all of Potomac to hear that you must not roll in carrion, you ignore me, and this too upsets me.
It upsets me to put your putrid bodies into my car and it upsets me that you attempt to sit on my lap while covered in what is most surely scrub typhus or even, dare I say it, the black death.
You see, you have sinned twice. You have sinned by being a filthy beast and you have sinned by ignoring me and as such you must be punished, for both of our sakes. If you roll in death, then you must be made clean.
Once the sink is being filled with warm sudsy water, it is simply too late too seek a pardon. The simple fact is that you smell rank. Your mournful eyes will only make me scrub harder, for I know that this is an event which will repeat itself again and again and again.
It is our fate. Yours is to be disgusting and mine is to be disgusted and we will continue on this way until our deaths, which will most assuredly be caused by something you rolled in.