So, picture this, folks. It was Thursday, and my Mom was taking me for a walk along the canal. I was having a great time--I met a schnauzer, I sniffed the breeze, I watched bicyclists go by. Then, I found a primo poop spot and managed, even though Mom was keeping a close eye and a firm grasp on me, to smudge a little bit onto my neck (on the white part, so it was especially becoming) and on my collar.Mom seemed disgusted at first, but then when we got to a nice grassy playground, she let me roll around with all abandon! And I mean, for about 5 minutes (35 doggie minutes!!). I thought she had finally calmed down. We even took a new route home through the meadow, along a muddy cowpath, and I had some great-smelling stuff on my feet! I really felt like a dog!
Turns out, she was leading me like a lamb to the slaughter. I knew something was wrong when she didn't take me off my leash before opening the front door. And when she started gathering up my dog towels, I tried to bolt--but what could I do? I was still leashed. And so, I resigned myself...and had a bath.
I even tried to act noble, hardly trying to escape and mostly just standing there as she unrelentingly soaped me up and rinsed me off, soaped me up and rinsed me off, soaped me up and rinsed me off...but inside my heart was breaking! I had never smelled so good in my whole life, and in a matter of 5 minutes (35 doggie minutes) she destroyed all I had built.
What's worse, she even washed my collar and in the meantime I have to wear my ridiculous baby collar. I feel like such a loser. I'm just going to go lay in a patch of sun and try to dream my troubles away.
Woof!
1 comment:
Poor Winston, I feel your sadness. I hate it when my Mom gives me a bath. I don't really want to admit this but when my Mom or Dad even say the word "Bath" I start shaking and try to hide. At least you have short hair, I have long hair and my Mom insists on blowing me dry so I don't get all knotty.
Casey
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