Eau de Dog

Yesterday was not a good day.

It all began when Pa grabbed a cookie and called me to come outside.  Right from the start I had a really bad feeling about that cookie, but I just couldn’t help myself and followed him trustingly out of the house.  He sat me down in the shade and pulled out a squirt bottle and a handful of cotton balls.  I could have the cookie, but for a price:  I’d first have to have my ears cleaned.  I was so depressed.  I had just about gotten my ears to the point that I no longer had to pretend that I couldn’t hear my humans when they gave me a command that I didn’t want to follow.  My stomach, however, won out and I sat patiently while Pa cleaned (note to self:  someday I really need to learn how to ignore my stomach and follow my brain—though I have a sneaky feeling that my brain would have taken the cookie also—maybe my brain and stomach are actually one and the same).  After Pa finished cleaning my ears, I rolled around the back yard and screamed using my high pitched bark just to show how angry I was.

After thoroughly alerting the entire neighborhood of my displeasure, I stalked to the side door of the house with the plan of dragging my head along the newly vacuumed living room rug (they squirted smelly liquid into my ear—the least I could do was spread it over their rug).  I didn’t get to go inside though.  As soon as I reached the door, Ma came out and put my chain and leash on me.  “This isn’t good,” I thought.  Then she took my collar off.  “This really isn’t good!”  It was then I noticed it:  a pile of towels and a bottle of shampoo.  I was getting a bath.

All wet

I don’t think I have to elaborate a great deal on how much I hate baths.  I really devote a lot of time building up the perfect mixture of dirt, bug guts, and other assorted smells on my fur and to have it suddenly replaced by a flowery “clean” smell is not only revolting but highly depressing.  Then there is the embarrassment factor.  First, I get washed in the driveway where there is absolutely no privacy.  What if one of those tiny yappy dogs I routinely scare off my property was to pass by the house?  Or if Stumpy the Lizard or that little bunny that’s been living in the flower bed was to suddenly appear?  How can I be menacing if I’m all lathered up?  Second, how can I possibly show my face at the park smelling the way I do now?  All the other dogs will laugh at me.

Poor me

Despite my protests and numerous attempts at making a break for it, Ma, Pa, and Sister managed to give me a thorough cleaning.  Sister kept laughing at me because she said I looked like a lemon meringue pie when I was all lathered up and a drowned rat when I was hosed off.  I get no respect.

After being dried off I was released back into the house.  If my family thought I was annoyed after getting my ears cleaned they were in for a big surprise.  I went crazy: I dragged my body along the living room rug, I slammed up against the hope chest multiple times, and barked like a mad dog with the highest pitched bark I could manage.  I’m sure they’ll think twice about giving me a bath next time.