Sunday, March 8, 2015
Run/ Walk/ Bike/ Elliptical (Today: 0.00 miles; Running Total: 197.09 miles)
Day 240 of *Another* 100 Days of Good Karma.
There was a smell coming from somewhere in the kitchen. After sniffing around I figured out the source: Tilley.
During the summer I bathe Tilley outside with a hose. But today it was cold and raining. I considered putting off the bath until a nicer day but she was pretty rank. So I caved and decided to use my bathtub.
I gathered what I thought I needed. I got four towels out thinking surely, surely that would be enough. I grabbed the dog shampoo, the scrub brush and a cup to rinse her off.
My first mistake (one of many): I overestimated Tilley’s enthusiasm for a bath.
I thought, all those YouTube videos of dogs hating baths, well those aren’t my dog.
I thought, she’s a Black Lab. She’ll like the water.
I thought, she’ll hop right in.
(Have I mentioned I can be naïve?)
Tilley followed me willingly enough into the bathroom, but when she saw the tub filled with water she gave me a concerned look. Her ears went limp and her tail waived slowly back and forth as if to show how uncertain she was about this idea.
I saw her reluctance and thought, hey, I have two extra pairs of hands that can help! So I called the kids into the bathroom.
The kids thought giving Tilley a bath was a great idea. Their enthusiasm should have warned me. But, since I’m still typing, clearly it didn’t.
I tried to coax Tilley into the bathtub. I pointed and said, “Come on, Tilley. Come on. Get in.”
I know she knows what ‘get in’ means because she’ll ‘get in’ the kiddie pool during the summer. But this wasn’t summer and she wasn’t looking at a kiddie pool so she just blinked at me, her tail never stopping that slow, uncertain wag.
I changed my tone and clapped my hands trying to make getting in the bath sound like fun.
“Come on, Tilley!” I pointed to the water in the tub. “Come on! Get in!”
The kids joined in with choruses of “Come on, Tilley! Come on! You can do it!”
Tilley eyed the door looking for a chance to bolt.
I picked up her front paws and put them over the side of the tub and tried to shove her over the side. “Come on, girl. Hop in. The water’s warm.”
She slid back down and laid on the floor limp as a noodle.
The kids, of course, thought this was hilarious. I was less amused.
No amount of coaxing and encouragement got her up off the floor, so finally I just picked her up (all 65 pounds of her) and dumped her in the water. She flailed about as ungracefully as a newborn calf in mud and then stood in the middle of the water giving me that dog look that says, “You’re lucky I love you.”
Hannah rolled up her pants legs and stepped into the tub. She poured soap on Tilley and I scrubbed. It didn’t take long for the water to fill up with black hair.
Hannah asked, “Can I get wet?”
“Um, sure,” I said, thinking you’re already wet.
Except, apparently, no.
Hannah plunked down into the soapy water up to her waist, clothes and all.
“Oh,” I sighed. “Well, since you’re in there,” I handed her the scrub brush.
Connor sat on the side of the tub and rolled his pant legs up. He grabbed the cup and poured some water over the soapy spots on Tilley’s back watching it run off her fur.
“Mommy can I make a bubble bath?”
“No, Connor. Tilley doesn’t need a bubble bath.”
“But look! I can make bubbles with the soap!” He turned the faucet on full blast.
Sure enough, bubbles.
“Connor! Turn the water off!”
“Aw!” He turned the water off, lower lip stuck out.
“Look, buddy, just get the soap off of her, okay?”
“Like this?” He poured more water over Tilley.
“Yep. Just like that.”
I held onto Tilley’s neck telling her she was a good dog, such a good dog. And she was being a good dog, but I held on tight anyway. The last thing I wanted was wet dog shaking all over the bathroom.
I quickly realized that Connor had a very tiny cup to rinse off a very big dog.
“Connor can you go a bigger bowl? So we can rinse Tilley off?”
“Aw, but my feet are wet!”
I thought about the disaster wet six year old feet implied and made a judgment call.
“Okay. You guys hold her. Don’t let her shake. I’ll be right back.”
I shut the bathroom door so there was no chance of a wet dog streaking out of the bathroom and around the house. I ran into the kitchen and grabbed a plastic bowl then ran back to the bathroom.
Ya’ll, I was gone for ten seconds. Tops.
As I walked back toward the bathroom I heard the indignant sounds of thwarted children.
“Tilley! No! Bad dog!”
I am not ashamed to admit that I hesitated outside the bathroom door for longer than necessary.
If I didn’t open the door then technically it wasn’t my problem, right? If a tree falls in the woods, I didn’t have to know about it. And I certainly didn’t have to see the devastation it caused on the way down.
From the other side of the bathroom door I heard the ongoing argument between children and wet dog.
“Tilley, don’t shake!”
“Ew! She got hair on me!
I wanted to just creep away. It seemed safer to not look. But being a parent implies ‘looking’ even when you don’t want to.
I opened the bathroom door.
Tilley was now out of the tub and in mid-shake.
My bathroom was dog-hair-mageddon. It was stuck to every surface and streaked all over the wet bathroom floor.
Hannah was up to her waist in the dirty water yelling at the dog.
As I watched, Connor got out of the tub and tried to grab Tilley before she could shake again. But, of course, he slipped on one of the many puddles that were now all over the floor and went sprawling on his butt.
Tilley was the calmest of the three ring circus. She stood in the middle of the bathroom with a sheepish look on her face that said, “I couldn’t help it.”
I calmly took several deep breaths.
And when that shit didn’t work I started barking orders.
“Connor put some towels down, you’re going to slip again. Hannah get out of the tub. I need some help.”
The kids laid every towel we had on the floor. I managed to snag one before it got soaked and threw it over Tilley to start drying her off. To her credit she sat like a good girl and made doggy groans of pleasure as I rubbed her down.
By the time the bath was over I had twenty towels that needed washing and enough left over dog hair to make a schnauzer.
After putting Tilley in her kennel, Hannah in the shower and ordering Connor to change his clothes I cleaned the bathroom.
It took a long time.
Today’s silver lining: I have a clean dog.
And that’s all I have to say about that.
What’s your silver lining today? I love comments!
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