Great deeds are usually wrought at great risks.
~Herodotus

An hour ago, it sounded like a good idea. But now, soaking wet, covered in dog hair and uncertain if my dogs and I were still friends, I wasn’t so sure. My husband had just finished giving our six-month-old son a bath, and I had the bright idea to bathe our two dogs next.

My husband often tackles the chore of getting our rangy mutts clean. Okay… “often” is an understatement; “always” is more accurate. We have two dogs, a sixty-pound male mutt and a forty-pound female German Shorthaired Pointer. It is no small task to ensure their cleanliness. They are both afraid of the tub, hose or any water that is not in their bowl.

But I was feeling adventurous.

My husband said, “Honey, not today. Maybe tomorrow.”

“I’ve got it! No big deal,” I replied, overly confident.

I diligently organized the bathroom so everything would go smoothly. I placed the dog shampoo and a cup within reach. I filled the tub with warm water as I grabbed a stack of towels, expecting a tsunami wave in my future.

I decided to start with Lacie, the smaller and less feisty of the two. After chasing her down the hallway and back again, I managed to trap her in the bathroom. She anchored her always wagging, wiggling bottom to the floor. After hefting her into the tub, she slid and splashed before standing still.

I managed to lather her up. My nostrils filled with the watermelon-scented shampoo, and I started to feel a little confident. Well, that lasted all of thirty seconds. Who knew that rinsing the dog would be the hardest part? Did I get all the shampoo out? How was one to tell for sure? Did I get water in her ears? Did I have to dry them out if I did?

No matter, Lacie decided that bath time was over. She jumped from the tub and shook from nose to tail. I managed to dry her off, patting inside her ears just in case, and then brushed her. Oh, man, the dog fur!

Spent and looking for sympathy, I glanced at my husband and said, “Is it always this hard?”

“Why do you think I don’t do it as often as I should?”

“So… Gizmo?” Gizmo is our bigger dog, the one who really hates bath time.

“Nope, you said you got it.”

After a dramatic sigh, I decided that I would take a different approach by brushing him first. That way, maybe less fur would come off in the tub.

Gizmo’s energy level had already spiked because of Lacie’s bath time. Crouched, ready to flee, my dog stared me down. I tapped the brush in my hand and took a tentative step toward him. He fled. The chase ensued.

I lost.

I lost the chase, the battle, the whole war.

He did not get brushed, and he did not get bathed by me.

My husband, taking pity on me, said, “Okay, this is getting out of hand. I’ll wash him.” And he did, without any issues.

My husband and dog emerged from the bathroom.

“How are you still dry?” I asked, staring at my husband in disbelief.

“Gizmo and I have an understanding.”

At his words, Gizmo shook the remaining water all over me.

I swear they both grinned at me.

— Heather Hartmann —