Friday, May 23, 2008

Bathing Dogs

The first one is relatively easy -- I get Molly on a leash and into the bathtub before she quite knows what's happening. Note the look of reproach and betrayed trust. But after I scissor off a huge amount of thick undercoat -- (almost like shearing a sheep, Tammy) and shampoo her with an anti-itch soap, she has to admit she feels better.

William's easy -- light, portable - he gets his bath in the kitchen sink, a nice relief from bending over the bathtub. He is always resigned to his fate (No Free Will-yum , we call him on these occasions) and he feels sorry for himself for quite a while after the ordeal is over.

Then Bear. She's a big, heavy girl and she Does Not Want to be bathed. In fact, she wants to go out --Right Now. Ignoring her protests, I leash her, drag her to the bathroom, and wrestle her considerable bulk into the tub. She tries to climb out but I am firm. The entire bath is conducted with one hand pushing her back into the tub while the other soaps and rinses.

When at last she's done, so am I. Soaked from head to toe, I go to my closet for dry clothes.

Jack and Maggie and Dan will have to wait for another day.

(No post tomorrow -- I'm off to teach at a Women's Writing Retreat -- back Sunday.)
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