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.