Cedar Sweep Take what you can.

This seemed a good a place as any to dry off; Dingo shimmied his way in to the sprawling woodland and sought out an empty hillock of dense grass within which to shake his cropped pelt free of water - head, shoulders, hips, tail - looking kind of like a hamster with too much food jammed in its cheeks because of how naturally fluffy his coat became. To temper it he unceremoniously plopped himself in the grass and began wriggling, twigs and things serving to scratch some itches while the grass took some static out from his coat. It also defeats the purpose of a bath. Once Dingo felt he had worked himself over he rolled to his belly and got up, good as new and layered with soil, grass clippings, and needle-bits from the forest floor.

This forest would become his home, he decided. It wouldn't last for long but he got to work all the same, pissing on trees as he roamed through the sweep, even stopping at a would-be den he had found discarded and ruined, popped a squat, and came away from the entry with an empty bowel. He was pleased with himself, and moseyed on down another trail as he explored the forest.