Friday, December 16, 2005
Duncan had his Christmas bath today. He adores bathtime. He almost knocked me over rushing to watch his water run into the tub (he knows it’s for him; I always take showers). I ordered him out of the room (I didn’t have all his bath paraphernalia set up yet – leash to tie him to the tub, plastic food bowl to souse him with water, his bar of “Dirty Dog Repeller Soap,” a yard-high stack of towels, and most important: a baggie stuffed to the brim with doggy tid bits).
Hearing the firm order to vacate the premises, Duncan dropped like a bullet onto the floor, stared at me hard, and put a “make me” look into the set of his jaw. I dragged him out by the collar, wheezing and puffing to dislodge one hundred pounds of determined dog, his collar bunching up behind his ears as we strained against each other.
Finally I got him out and in a flash slammed the door, making sure it latched (he’s a whiz at opening doors). I prepped his paraphernalia. Leash tied to the bar halfway up the tub shell; lid off the tin of soap; water temperature tested; bits of hot dog and Mozzarella cheese cut up and loaded into a baggie and placed on the top shelf of the bathroom until canine is latched safely into tub and cannot take sneak previews of said treats.
Finally I opened the door. In he rushed, shoving me aside, leaping in and then out of the tub, distributing water onto me, the floor, and all four walls in one seamless movement. “Get back into that tub,” I roared, quickly grabbing the tid bits from the shelf and waving them over his head in a far corner of the tub. In he went again, muzzle trained like an arrow on the bag of bits. I took this opportunity to rush at him with the clip end of the leash attached to the tub, and snapped it onto his collar. Then I doused him with two bowls of warm water, and then he shook both bowls onto me and my hair. This was repeated until both of us were thoroughly water-soaked.
That was the fun part; the bath itself was fairly uneventful. As usual, it was simply a matter of me trying to feed intermittent bits of soap-free treats to a dog when both my hands are bristling with soap suds. Not that Duncan minds soap-smeared tid, but they give me visions of vast vet bills.
Now the fun’s over, and Duncan’s drying out. His ears look odd, as can be seen in the photos above; I hope I got all the Dirty Dog Repeller soap removed from them and that they’ll normal-out once he’s completely dry.