That’s Mister Stanley Pants to You

I woke up at 8:30 this morning for a conference call in which I understood very little, and when the call finished in less than an hour, I had more time than usual. So I decided that the dogs needed a bath.

We’re used to the reek that emanates from our Bean, but usually the other two dogs smell just fine to us. (Keep in mind, though, that we don’t have many visitors so it’s very likely that our own smell is canceling out any dog odor.) For the last month, though, all of the dogs have developed a noticeable dirt smell, and Chris and I had been trying to find a warm day to bathe them.

Chris usually washes the dogs in the stand-up shower, but this requires that Chris strip down and get in the shower with them. I’m not a fan of this method, which is why Chris is the official dog-washer and I am the official post-bath-treater and dog-laundry-doer.

Today I had time and the weather was relatively warm, so I thought I should try to bathe the dogs even though Chris was at work. I started with the easiest and smelliest dog, and grabbed Mina.

I put her in the kitchen sink and started shampooing her while Stanley stared at me from the floor. He’d seen me grab Mina, so he knew something odd and probably unpleasant was going on, but he wasn’t quite sure exactly what. When I put the damp Mina on the ground and grabbed Paco, Stan knew it was time to run.

After Paco’s bath, I went downstairs and found Stanley peering at me with large, frightened eyes from the couch.

“Ready for a bath?” I asked him.

He looked away. Surely I would disappear if he could no longer see me.

I took my chance and grabbed him with the blanket that he was sitting on. He kicked and struggled, but I managed to dump him into the sink.

Stan stood in the sink, as close as possible to the sink walls, and tucked his tail. He quivered and shook while I rinsed him, and tried to leap out of the towel when I lifted him out of the sink.

Baths done and treats eaten, the dogs sat on the sunny spots on the floor while I started a load of dog blankets and towels.

A few hours later, the dogs seemed nearly dry, but they were apparently still cold. When I went to the basement to start folding the laundry, Mina and Stanley followed me down. Mina peeked into all the corners of the room, looking for the best and dustiest spot to explore so that her normal stench would return, and Stan stood by my laundry basket and just waited.

I folded four blankets and several snuggle sacks while Stan watched. Then, as I turned toward the dryer to get another blanket, Stan made his move.

He leaped into the laundry basket and began to work his way into the folded blankets. I folded two more blankets, placed them on top of Stan, and then carried the whole thing upstairs.

As soon as we got to the top of the first set of stairs, Stanley jumped out of the laundry basket. The pile of blankets had been cozy and warm, but moving? That was just wrong. Good things didn’t come from being carried or moved around. Good things only came from blankets that stayed still.

Posted by: ssjane | March 28, 2007 | 1:10 pm
Posted in: Dogs