What is the allure of manure?

What the Hell, dog?

I mean, I understand
Your desire to escape;
If I were penned up in the house
When everyone else is free to come and go
And the only acceptable way out
Is on a leash with a chain
Around your neck,
I would want to leave too.

But when you leave, you disappear
Quickly from our sight
And you don't respond to our calling
And you are never easy to be found
Until you come rolling back into the yard
Rubbing your neck on the dry grass and leaves
And you always bear the inimitable mark
Of that deer manure you found in the woods;
I mean, every time.
And you have got to know that I have to bathe you
And remove the alluring musk of that deer manure
So what's the point?

Is the desire to disguise your natural doggy scent
When tromping through the woods
So inbred, so tacked into your dna,
So awesomely strong that you just have to do it?
Really?

Really?

Don't you remember the numerous baths over the years
Don't you remember the water and the soap
The suds in your eyes and ears
The dragging on a leash through the house
To the ever-awaiting bath tub
The struggles in the tub to remove that
Less than subtle stink from your coat?
Well, don't you?

Or is the allure of manure just too irresistable?