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With my house slowly returning to normal after Laura, the wife and I decided that a week in the heat without electricity and more importantly, A/C meant one thing: the dogs stank.

It did not help any that Bernie and Bill had gotten out this particular morning and decided running in the ditches was fun. So, they smelled of dog hair and ditch water.

This was not going to be a fun day, not in the least.

To begin with, Jada in her 13 years has never particularly liked baths.

She tolerates them, but you still have to pick her up. When you do all of her bones become jelly and she just kind of flops about as you move 50 pounds of dead weight. The whole time she is staring at you as if you have committed a heinous crime.

But for the most part, she is, in comparison, the easiest to bathe.

Once you are done, her bones are good again and she storms off huffing at you.

I can almost hear her muttering, “A pox on your house!”

Bernie comes next. He is probably the most laid-back dog we have ever had.  Except for those times he goes on unauthorized walks, his idea of going outside is running to the place he goes, then running back for his spot on the living room couch.

Bath times are another matter. He tries to escape back to the couch as much as he can, so you have to pretty much have one person hold him and another bathe him. Once that is done, back to the couch.

Bill gets the most baths in our house. He loves getting out. He loves running in the mud, in the ditches, and everywhere else that dirt collects. Not as annoying as the fact that where it collects on him as he is a white dog. So, it shows, every single drop of mud.

He also does not have fur like his brother and mother, but more of hair, so he mattes.

He also hates baths. Getting wet running the neighborhood, yes. Getting wet through baths, not so much.

But, as long as you keep him distracted, you can bathe him.

Then.

There is Roswell.

To him, getting wet from bath water is much like a demon being doused with Holy Water.

It takes the defensive line of the Houston Texans to hold him down while you bath him.

Roswell is the smallest, yet, the dog becomes the hulk when wet.

We do not bathe him outside for the simple fact, the last time we did, he got out and we had neighbors wondering if we were abusing him.

So, picture this. Sicily, 1927…

That never gets old.

Two adults and one crazed dog in a small bathroom. There is enough room for one of us to hold the dog in the bathtub and the other to furiously wash and rinse the dog while he is thrashing about like a madman.

People have suggested sedatives for his baths. Yet they never specify if they mean for us or Roswell.

 

Michael Cole is a syndicated columnist that when he is not writing, he is plotting global domination. You can follow him at www.storyoveracup.com