Pigúiça was dirty. Very dirty. She had mud on her nose, mud on her paws, mud on her tail, and even a little bit of mud inside her ear.
“Bath time,” said Fofuxo.
“What bath?” said Pigúiça, blinking. “I'm squeaky clean.” And a blob of mud fell off her chin, splat, right in front of Fofuxo.
Fofuxo tried not to laugh. “Squeaky clean, huh?”
“Baths are boring,” said Pigúiça, hiding behind a bush. “The water is wet. The soap gets in my eyes. And I have to hold still. And then I smell like soap instead of like a dog!”
Fofuxo thought for a moment. Then he said, “Okay. No bath today. Today we're crossing the lake.”
Pigúiça's head popped out of the bush. “Crossing the lake?”
In the lake in the woods, there was a row of round stepping stones, one after another, all the way to the other shore. When someone hopped on them, each stone sang a different note. Do. Re. Mi.
Pigúiça hopped onto the first one. Do! She hopped onto the second. Re! She hopped onto the third. Mi! The fourth one sang so high it sounded like a little bird. Water splashed on her paws, and the mud washed away without her even noticing. On the fifth stone she slipped a little and, splash, got her whole tummy wet. Instead of complaining, she giggled.
In the middle of the lake, the water was shallow and warm from the sun. Round flowers grew there, and whenever anyone came close, they puffed out bubbles of sweet-smelling foam. Pigúiça rolled around in the bubbles. Fofuxo scrubbed her back gently with his paw and made her a hat out of foam.
“Look, Fofuxo! I'm a birthday cake!”
When they reached the other side, Pigúiça gave herself a big shake, brrrrr, spraying water everywhere. Her fur was white and gray again, soft and smelling like flowers. The two of them lay down on a warm rock to dry off while the sun sank behind the trees.
“Fofuxo,” said Pigúiça, her voice all soft and sleepy. “Can we cross the lake again tomorrow?”
“We can,” he said. “Anytime there's mud.”
That night, Pigúiça curled up in her bed, fluffy as a cloud. She sniffed her own paw. It smelled like flowers. Outside, the stones in the lake were still singing, softer and softer. She yawned once. She yawned twice. And she fell asleep, clean for real.
