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Friday, July 08, 2016
"Don't Wash My Dog"
A few days ago, I decided that Lucky really needed a bath. She smelled like cat spit.
She got that way from being "loved" by Pepper (evidently one too many times). She saw her plastic tub come out and looked worried. She saw the water running and the towel being laid out on the counter. The "dance of anxiety" got faster and she began to run for the safety of the area under the dining room table which is also her favorite stuffed animal's residence.
I'm guessing that since that little raccoon is her "lovey", she figured that it would protect from what was coming next.
Thankfully, as soon as I shook the treat bag she came running. Didn't even have to open it. But I swooped her up and gently put her into the waiting warm water. As with most animals, she spent the entire torturous 7 minutes (I looked for my own curiosity sake) either looking up at me with those huge brown eyes or crying in my armpit.
I felt horribly guilty.
Once I knew all the buttermilk shampoo and conditioner were completely rinsed I put her on the ground. She did enjoy the toweling off and being told she smelled and looked adorable. Even though her fur is very short, she gave herself a rather good shake and toddled off to show Pepper that she was clean.
Pepper was not happy. He spent the rest of his afternoon zooming on top of all the furniture and pouncing on her. She kept running to me for help. Poor little girl! He smelled her ears, her privates and gave her the fish eye. I suppose it is an arduous task to kiss/bathe a dog only slightly smaller than you and give her the scent that says, "This is my baby, no mess with her."
So from 4:15 on Pepper was really out of sorts. Lucky just wanted a good nap after such an exhausting activity.
Finally, at 8:30 Pepper decided to crawl into my lap, Lucky was sleeping right next to me. So he gave her another long smell and settled down. Since he's 13, it's hard to say if he finally stopped his hysteria out of old guy exhaustion or he finally got used to her clean aroma and figured it was time to give up trying to "fix" the missing Pepper perfume.
I guess I shouldn't have messed with the perfection he personally spent hours making sure he bestowed on her. But I have to say, sleeping was a lot more pleasant for one of us. Now if only I could figure out how to get Pepper into the plastic bathtub...
She got that way from being "loved" by Pepper (evidently one too many times). She saw her plastic tub come out and looked worried. She saw the water running and the towel being laid out on the counter. The "dance of anxiety" got faster and she began to run for the safety of the area under the dining room table which is also her favorite stuffed animal's residence.
I'm guessing that since that little raccoon is her "lovey", she figured that it would protect from what was coming next.
Thankfully, as soon as I shook the treat bag she came running. Didn't even have to open it. But I swooped her up and gently put her into the waiting warm water. As with most animals, she spent the entire torturous 7 minutes (I looked for my own curiosity sake) either looking up at me with those huge brown eyes or crying in my armpit.
I felt horribly guilty.
Once I knew all the buttermilk shampoo and conditioner were completely rinsed I put her on the ground. She did enjoy the toweling off and being told she smelled and looked adorable. Even though her fur is very short, she gave herself a rather good shake and toddled off to show Pepper that she was clean.
Pepper was not happy. He spent the rest of his afternoon zooming on top of all the furniture and pouncing on her. She kept running to me for help. Poor little girl! He smelled her ears, her privates and gave her the fish eye. I suppose it is an arduous task to kiss/bathe a dog only slightly smaller than you and give her the scent that says, "This is my baby, no mess with her."
So from 4:15 on Pepper was really out of sorts. Lucky just wanted a good nap after such an exhausting activity.
Finally, at 8:30 Pepper decided to crawl into my lap, Lucky was sleeping right next to me. So he gave her another long smell and settled down. Since he's 13, it's hard to say if he finally stopped his hysteria out of old guy exhaustion or he finally got used to her clean aroma and figured it was time to give up trying to "fix" the missing Pepper perfume.
I guess I shouldn't have messed with the perfection he personally spent hours making sure he bestowed on her. But I have to say, sleeping was a lot more pleasant for one of us. Now if only I could figure out how to get Pepper into the plastic bathtub...
