Every time it’s the same old story:
A brother or two and I go out, armed with the bottle of shampoo and sensitive doggy skin spray. Every time my younger brother grabs the collar of Tippy and drags her into the sunlight. If the other brother is present he is in charge of the water, if not, I am. The water is turned on and the little dog trembles in the uttermost terror as the cold water works its way through the layers of fur and accumulated grease and dirt that is the reason behind our mission.
Around the point that the shampoo is applied I run in to get the towels that I always forget to bring with me. Running back outside we rinse of the dog that does not look unlike a wet rat.
After allowing the ashamed animal to have the pleasure of shaking off the water and drenching my unfortunate brothers, (I refuse to be near the dogs when they shake) we dry off the little mutant that slowly begins to resemble a dog. She begins to wag her tail with pleasure, as we towel her off. My dog isn’t any better. Wouldn’t you think they would have understood that in order to have the wonderful doggy bliss of a getting toweled down we have to get them wet first? Doesn’t watering them give them the wonder feeling of getting cooled off on a warm summer’s day?
Yet the next time we go out to wash the dogs, my brothers have to chase them down and drag them into place.