Jaye Marie and Anita Dawes

The dog flatly refused to come in the bathroom… or to stay in the bathtub once forcibly deposited in it. She doesn’t like baths. She never has. Water… cold, muddy and preferably smelling of decomposition… that’s fine, apparently. But not soap and water. It isn’t her thing.

Imagine the scene… you’ll have to, because every time I beg, plead or sue for help in bathing the awkward animal, everyone disappears like steam through the air vent…

I can’t blame them.

The pre-bath dog is a pretty thing, all fluff and floppy ears and smiles. Bath-hound is different… all wide-eyed with stiff, outstretched legs and claws while ever there is something to impede my progress (as by this time I have dug her out form wherever she is hiding, bribed, invited and dangled the leash… and finally just given in and picked her up… and she is not a small dog…