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The week of Thanksgiving, or as we affectionately call it in our house Nomsgiving, is a hectic one of cleaning and last-minute preparation for the Holiday Season. This year is no different.

Every year I try and pawn off the chore of bathing the dogs to my wife, and every year she comes up with a way to ensure I am stuck with it. One year she convinced her school district to work till Wednesday, another year she swore she had to go shopping for the Nomsgiving meal.

She even got the flu one year.

She is good.

This year she just handed me the hose and went back inside.

Here I am, tons of things to do and now I am stuck outside with four dogs that so far do not seem to have a clue of what is about to happen.

Then again, I don’t have a clue either.

I grab the house, pull out the dog pool, and grab the soap. If I drank, I am sure I would have pulled out whiskey.

At this time, I can tell they are getting suspicious. Jada has decided that the far corner of the backyard is a great place to be in. Bill is now hiding behind the lemon tree.

Roswell is running faster in circles.

Bernie is eying me suspiciously. He wants to come and be loved, but he is not exactly a friend of water or the hose. But after making the appropriate noises, he trods over and sits down.

I start petting him and pull out cookies. Just setting them out of reach. He is looking at them expectantly. And before he realizes it, he is being bathed.

Bernie does not like it, but the allure of cookies has him tolerating it.

Then comes Bill. He is not a fan of baths, but once you start, he likes the interaction enough that he tolerates it.

Jada, being an older dog, is more used to the bath process. She hates it. She will shake herself often during the process to ensure you are just as wet.

And now, saving the best or craziest for last.

Roswell hates the water. He acts like he is being abducted by aliens the second that first drop hits him. The only way is either make it a two man job or get very hands on.

So, I am hands on. I am holding a squirming dog in one arm and washing him with the other.

Legs are flailing, he is bucking, and I have not even gotten him wet yet.

Every few months I go through this, and every few months I wonder why I don’t ply him with calming treats or something. And every few months I forget.

By this point, we are both drenched. I think I have more soap on me than him. He is acting like a possessed man fighting for dear life.

He breaks free and I figure he is as clean as he is going to get unless I use a pressure washer.

The bath before Nomsgiving took three hours, an hour for the first three and two for Roswell.

What am I thankful for this Thanksgiving? Pain reliever.

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving my friends, from my dysfunctional family to yours!

 

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