Stage 1. You are petting the dog and notice that she’s getting a bit whiffy. Comment to anyone in the room (or to an empty room, whichever) that the dog’s getting a bit whiffy and that you’re probably going to give her a bath on your next day off.
Nonchalant.
Stage 2. Day off arrives, get stuck into some big, messy, ridiculous project. Forget entirely about bathing the dog.
Neener!
Stage 3. Remember about three days later that you were going to give the dog a bath about three days ago. Note that she smells slightly worse than the last time you noticed her odor.
“I do not stink!”
Stage 4. It’s your day off again! Yay! To celebrate, you take the dog on a three hour walk, complete with extra poop bags, a water bottle for each of you, and your camera. To celebrate even further, when you both get back panting from the heat, you take a two hour nap, her on her rug, you on the bed.
Stage 5. Oh crap! I was going to give the dog a bath last Tuesday! She’s looking a bit greasy these days, to boot. Okay. Next “weekend” she’s getting a bath for sure. No joking. No doubt.
If you can’t find me, you can’t bathe me!
Stage 6. It’s your day off again. You’re either deep in the mires of some project or else watching the Mythbusters blow shit up on the Internet. Anyway, the dog rambles into your work-room and you actually smell her coming before you hear her tags jingling or feel her wet snoot upon your ankle.
No wonder she smells…
Stage 7. Believe it or not, you managed once again to blow off washing the dog. This is serious. You are like the absent-minded professor, but without the professor bit. Or the mind. You can smell the presence of the dog, and yet you fail to get the hint? You should definitely just go live in a sewer, ’cause it’s obvious that stench and filth don’t affect you in the least. Imagine the utility payments you wouldn’t have to make every month. You’d be rollin’ in the green stuff, and I don’t mean money.
Stage 8. Speaking of rolling in stuff, the dog has taken the liberty of finding an extravagantly dead rodent of some type and has wallowed liberally upon the carcass. There’s no getting around it this time. She’s definitely getting a bath. So, you break out the secondary leash, tether her to the back porch, hose her down, soap her up, scrub-scrub-scrub-scrub, hose her down. “Lather-rinse-repeat.” Rinse. Rinse. Rinse. Argh, this dog has a lot of fur for soap to hide in. Rinse. Rinse. Towel. Rub, rub. Stand back for the violent fur-shaking. Floka-floka-flok go the ears.
Stage 9: Smells good enough to cuddle:
Stage 10. Well, you’ve got at least another month before you do this dance all over again!
Excellent narrative and pictures! Thanks for making me laugh.
Awesome! Plus your dog is adorable.
So very true. And cute.
Thanks!