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Wednesday, May 18, 2011

I gave my dog a bath.

We have a beautiful, spunky chocolate Labrador retriever.  Riley's eleven now, and she still acts like a rambunctious teenager.  There's only two things that make her slow down.  Storms and water.

We pick on her so much for walking daintily around puddles and for scuttling away from the pool when we talk to her from the water.  Today I had planned to give her a bath in our tub upstairs.  I knew it was going to be a challenge and that Riley would hate every minute of it, but it needed to be done.
She would live.
She thought differently.

She's not allowed upstairs, but the treats I held before her got her bounding up ahead of me.  She sniffed around for a while once we got up there and realized something was wrong.  Maybe it was the sweet tones of my voice, maybe it was the drip of the bath faucet, but, all of a sudden, she decided she wanted to go back downstairs and fast.

I caught hold of her haunches before her front paws took her farther down the stairs from me.  I half lifted her, half walked her into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.  The poor thing started shaking as if I was taking her to be executed.  I started to feel bad for her, and I tried to coax her into a better mood, but her shaking wouldn't let up.  Those sad, why-are-you-doing-this-to-me eyes almost had me convinced, but this had to happen.  I turned her toward the tub and nudged her forward.  I brought up her first paw and put it into the water.  Resigned to her doom, she got in.  I followed.

She shook through most of her bath, but I was able to calm her down some.  I spoke soothingly to her and sang to her and rubbed her kindly and gently as I knelt in the dirty water with her.  She let her face rest on the edge of the tub in the saddest way possible.  It was pitiful.

She knew when we were finished, and she got out of the tub before I said anything.  She shook off and got wet dog smell all over our bathroom, but I couldn't scold her, of course.  I rubbed her down with an old towel then confined her to the bathroom to dry until her high pitched, sad whining convinced me to let her finish drying outside.



Precious, no?

3 comments:

  1. Hahahaha! Oh, Riley.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Awww! Poor Riley! I want to give her a hug since she looks so sad in those pictures. I wish she would realize how fun bath times can be. She’s thirteen years old now, right? How is she now?

    Ashley Ziegler

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Riley's almost 13 years old now! The poor thing still doesn't like baths.

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