All Rileyed Up

Today is a lovely early-spring day, the kind of weather that is both warm and cool. I can stand barefoot on cold cement while the sun shines on my face and feel a little of both temperatures. The kids rode their bikes while I pruned the rosebushes and trimmed some plants hanging over the back wall. I took a deep breath expecting soil and roses in the breeze but instead smelled what can only be described as dirty dog.

Bitches, represent!

The Notorious F.O.X. has been notoriously stinky for about two weeks now. The dogs used to get baths all the time, courtesy of pet groomers. I started using a mobile groomer a year ago when it became clear that bringing two dogs who don’t like other dogs to a groomer, along with two kids who move in opposite directions, is about as easy as it is for me to graciously lose a game of Monopoly. The mobile pet groomer is not cheap, and their baths fell into the not-so-often category. Meaning, they only get baths when I start accusing Husband of farting only to discover that one of the dogs has crawled under the table.

In an effort to cut unnecessary spending, I decided to wash the dog myself. I can’t bathe her outside because the drainage in the backyard, like my ability to lose graciously at Monopoly, leaves much to be desired. So I decided on the master bathroom, which is a spacious, walk-in shower (whoever lived here before me was either physically disabled or elderly, because the shower is capable of accommodating such needs).

The kids were antsy for a new activity, so I suggested we all pile into the shower and wash the dog (are you shuddering or amused?). Clad in a pink Barbie tutu swimsuit and red swim trunks respectively, Little No Limit and The Boy clamored into the shower. I pulled and yanked the Notorious F.O.X. in with me.

Now, many people have ideas about Chow Chows, that they’re, well, notorious. It is no lie that they can be aggressive with other dogs and they do like to dominate, but they’re quite loyal to their owners. And for being forced into a shower with the kids, I think she handled herself very well. Sure, she tried to find a way out of the shower, but overall, she remained calm. She let the kids soap her up (seriously, half a bottle of shampoo – Chow Chows = So. Much. Hair.) and rinse her off, and the kids giggled wholeheartedly whenever she shook herself of excess water and suds. The kids towel dried her while I used the blow dryer and once she was reasonably dry, I let her outside to finish off drying in the sunlight.

All in all, not so bad. As a bonus, it also forced me to clean my bathroom. I am not exaggerating when I tell you that my cleaning skills rival that of your college roommate’s unemployed parasite boyfriend, but washing a dirty dog in my shower is definite cause for clean up. I broke out the bleach and cleaned the entire thing from top to bottom and then threw the 6 towels that we used up into the washer.

The whole process took about two hours. The kids had fun and are now taking a nap. I have a clean shower. And now, I can take a deep breath and smell the sweet scent of herbal shampoo. I think I’ll avoid playing Monopoly tonight, lest I ruin my content.

Hmpf. How come I didn’t get a bath?

Because, twit, everyone knows you pee when you get nervous.

Whatever.

(this post submitted to the dog blog carnival, which you can learn about at Notes From a Country Groomer)