Sunday, August 5, 2012

How Yuck Is That Doggy In The Washtub?

Farmer H took the bull by the horns this afternoon. Or the beagle by the ears. He wrestled Tank into a tub in the back of the Gator, and bathed him within an inch of his fleas' lives. Tank was not real happy with the submersion. I think the ice-cold well water flowing from the hose might have had something to do with it. The Pony acted as bath assistant. Luckily, a beagle, though heavy, is not a large dog to control.

Juno was next. She's all wasp-waisted, leggy adolescent, about to turn a year old, with long feathery ebony fur, and an extra-long whip-like tail. The Pony lifted her, and pronounced her lighter than Tank. We were afraid she might be all skittish about her first bath, and a livewire to handle. But she took it well. Our little stray soaked up the two-on-one attention like a champ. The only complaint from her groomer was the constant flogging from her soaking tail. Upon completion, Juno's coal-black hair fell parted in the middle like a 1970 debutante.

Both curs threw themselves about in a post-bath orgy of shaking, rolling, scraping, and licking. I had feared they would head straight to the dust hole that the chickens use for dry-shampooing. But no. They slid along the bristly brown grass stems, writhing and wriggling in ecstasy.

Ann the black german shepherd did not receive a bath. Farmer H had neither the patience nor fortitude to attempt such a large-dog immersion. He says she will receive flea powder, but no bath.

Farmer H is a big ol' chicken.


Sioux said...

So in this case, being big has its advantages. At least for Ann...

Hillbilly Mom said...

Yes, might makes right. Ann is not the smartest of creatures. She, too, was a stray. We found her hunkered down under one of our cars six Februaries ago. We couldn't catch her, but the next morning she showed up with her even stupider brother, Cubby. Who is now deceased.

One look into Ann's muddy brown eyes tells you that nobody is home upstairs. HOWEVER, toss out some leftover pizza to the dogs, and she ends up with every piece. First there's a scuffle, then some snarling, then Ann trots away with them stacked neatly in her mouth. I think there's some Lab in her.

Ann is top dog now that our Humane Society dog, Grizzly, passed on after twelve glorious years of freedom, roaming the grounds of Hillmomba.

Kathy's Klothesline said...

Back when I had money (before I bought this money pit from hell) my dogs went in quarterly for a good wash and groom. My Collie was so obedient that he would stand stock still while the groomer finished his haircut with scissors. He was the best dog ever. Louise the Saint Bernard didn't really mind what you did, but when she decided it was over, she would just sort of plow you down and go on with whatever she wanted to do. I suppose this is why I have all small dogs now. I can over power them. But, I use warm water.

Hillbilly Mom said...

Warm water, and a bed to sleep in, and a roof over their heads. Our dogs have to rough it. But we DID break down and let Grizzly in during a tornado once. He was deathly afraid of storms.

Growing up, I had a miniature black poodle. He was the smartest thing ever. Twice a year, he went to the groomer for a poodle cut and toenail trim. Man, did he think he was something when he got home! Click, click, clicking all over the kitchen floor, prancing around, showing off his "dog ears" tied with red ribbon. He was our only inside dog.