Monday’s
Blues
Oh No,
It’s Bath Time!!
Bath time. It doesn’t happen very often, but when it does…
it's horrible! I, personally, hate bath time. Dodger? He puts
up with it. It’s always the same, too - the human who doesn’t
live here anymore will come over, and she’ll be all friendly
and nice and pick me up and give me kisses and call me a
good girl. And then we go into “The Room.” The evil room
with the big white thing with water in it. I hate water. I hate
The Room.
Then my human puts me in the white thing with soapy
water and she sits down and blocks the way to the door.
Sure, she’s nice about it – she talks all sweet to me, and
calls me a good girl, and says “I know.” A lot. But does she
know? Does she really know how much I detest taking a
bath? Sure, I’m itchy and I smell bad but hey – I’m a dog.
Plus, I’ve got thick fur. Really thick. It’s hard to get dry after
a bath. They rub me down with a nice thick towel and that
helps, but what then? Then I air dry and I get cold. Dodger
doesn’t have it so bad because he’s got thin, wiry fur that
water doesn’t want to cling to. No one wants to play with
me when I’m wet and my human Mom doesn’t let me sit in
her lap, she won’t pick me up – she doesn’t want anything to
do with me! It’s not even my fault I’m wet!
Oh no, here we go. “Sissy” is here. Did she come over just
to give me a bath? Why would she do that? This experience
has to be as awful for her as it is for me – she gets wet too!
No, no don't pick me up. No I'm not a good girl! Oh no, oh
no. She shuts the door with me still in her arms and oh no...
there it is. The white thing.
12
Asheboro Magazine, Issue 51
She sets me down and thank Doggy God there's no water
in the white thing yet. I can try and make my escape before
it's too late! Her back is turned, aha! I jump out and onto
the floor, going to the door and leaning hard against it –
hoping it will open.
“What are you doing?” She asks me in a sweet voice, picking
me up from the floor and putting me back in the white
thing. Okay, so that wasn’t a really well thought out escape
plan.
“Who's a good girl?” She asks me as she dumps a cup of
water over me and soaps me up. I wish I could answer
“Not you.” I wish I could tell her how much I hate this,
maybe she would stop. “I know, sweetie, I know you don't
like this.” What is she a mind reader now? “But you ha