Macer stepped up to the top of a flat boulder, and with a soft huff jumped easily onto a taller one a few feet away. With only a slight wobble, he made it to another. The speckled hybrid amused himself this way for a few more leaps before he was past the group of large rocks, then continued toward the river with soft grassy earth beneath his paws, panting gently.
He could see the thin blue ribbon of water now, winding around the brightly colored meadow like an iridescent sash. He began to run, eager to wash the paint from his fur. It always made him itch something awful once it had dried. When he reached the pebbled shore of the river, Macer held his arms out before him and looked himself over. His silky fur was matted with blots of orange, yellow, and black paint, most severely along his chest and shoulders. The boy scowled. He had done a number on himself this time, although thankfully, he had remembered not to wear a bandana or one of his prized pair of patched jeans. That would have been a real disaster.
Without testing the temperature, Macer barreled into the river. Inhaling sharply as the icy water sliced into him, he ducked under to get over the shock quickly. The wolfdog resurfaced, grinning and shaking his head, then raked his claws through his stained fur. The water shimmered faintly with warm colors where he bathed.