An hour ago, it sounded like a good idea. But, now, soaking wet, covered in dog hair and uncertain if my dogs and I are still friends, I’m not so sure. My husband just finished giving our six-month-old son a bath and I had the bright idea to bathe our two dogs next.
My husband, often is the one to tackle the chore of getting our rangy mutts clean. Even as I type that I can feel my husband’s eyebrow going up. Often is an understatement, ALWAYS is more accurate. We have two dogs, a sixty-pound male mutt and a forty-pound female GSP. It is no small task to ensure their cleanliness. They are both afraid of the tub, water hose or heck any water that is not in their bowl.
But, I was feeling adventurous.
He said, “Honey, not today. Maybe tomorrow.”
“I’ve got it! No big deal,” I replied, overly confident.
I diligently set the scene. Dog shampoo, cup, warm water, and towel. I decided to start
with Lacie. The smaller and less feisty of the two. Going willing did not happen. After chasing her down the hallway and back again I managed to trap her in the bathroom. She anchored her always wagging, wiggling bottom to the floor. Hefting her into the tub she slid and splashed until finally freezing.
I managed to lather her up. My nostrils filling, with the watermelon scented shampoo, I started to feel a little confident. Well, that lasted all of thirty seconds. Who knew rinsing the dog would be the hardest part! Is all the shampoo gone? How is one to tell for sure? No matter, she decided bath time was over by jumping from the tub and shaking from nose to tail. I managed to dry her off and brush her, oh man the hair!
Spent, I looked at my husband and said, “Is it always this hard?”
“Why do you think I don’t do it as often as I should?”
“So . . . Gizmo?” Gizmo is our bigger dog . . . the one who really hates bath time.
“Nope, you said you got it.”
I thought I would take a different approach. Brush him first. Maybe less hair would shed off in the tub this way.
Gizmo’s energy is already spiked, because of Lacie’s bath time. Crouched and ready to flee my dog stared me down. I tapped the brush in my hand and took a tentative step toward him. He fled. The chase ensued.
I lost. I lost the chase, the battle, the whole war. He did not get brushed. He did not get bathed by me. He was washed by my husband who said, “Okay, this is getting out of hand, I’ll clean him.” To which he did without any issues.
My husband and dog emerged from the bathroom. Husband mostly dry.
“How!?”
“Gimzo and I have an understanding.” At his words Gizmo shook the remaining water all over me.
I swear they both grinned at me.
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