Because we have dogs who sport a naturally scruffy appearance, they don't require a lot of grooming. Still, after a few weeks of rainy winter weather and muddy trips to the dog park, their scruffiness gets to a point where scruffy becomes grungy and measures must be taken. These measures are, in the minds of our dogs, quite drastic. They involve brushing, combing and a trip to the shower where they're tortured with a warm shower-massage and lightly scented soap.
Kirby, who is still fairly clueless about the process, actually liked being brushed and bathed until he noted that Baxter did not, at which time Kirby decided he did not like the process either. (Why can't Baxter only teach him his good traits?)
Yesterday my husband took on the brave task of dog-washing and I was playing dog-catcher and towel maven. Kirby went in first. When wet, he looks rather like a black-and-tan dachsund with a lift kit. He survived and it was time to catch the big guy.
Baxter is too heavy for me to lift, so I had to physically usher (that is push, pull and shove) him into the chamber of horrors. As usual, this big, hairy dog who leaps with joy into ice-cold mountain lakes stood trembling at the prospect of being gently lathered in a warm, misty shower. When wet, Baxter is still quite handsome, looking rather like one of his sleeker pointing cousins. Once the lather goes on, he resigns himself to his fate. Interestingly enough, Baxter really likes being toweled-off and blow-dried. I've never been able to figure this out. I, however, really dislike using noisy blowdryers, so they mostly dry on their own.
Today we're heading off for a long weekend road trip. The dogs are clean, their beds are washed and their food is packed. They're ready to go. I am sitting here in my PJs without having packed a darned thing and am getting that "any time soon?" look from my husband which suggests that now would be a good time to stop writing and hit the shower myself.
No comments:
Post a Comment