Thursday, April 05, 2007

Lucy got two baths yesterday. She was mad as hell. I kept telling her that no matter how angry she was, I was twice as mad.

The first bath followed an incident where I went to the back door, and called "Luuuuu!" Usually, that gets her running from where ever she is all the way to the patio door. Yesterday, I called "Luuuuu!", and there was no response. No plinky plunky collar jingle. No rustling brush, signaling that she's all through playing Jungle Dog in the neighbor's yard. There was just silence. I yelled "LU! TREATS!" If just yelling her name does not work, I can assure you that the promise of delicious foodstuffs gets her to the door in seconds. There is still no noise. I can't see her, and she's not responding to the prospect of a snack. Something is wrong. I go running toward to waybackyard. Then, I see her little befreckled face. I yell her name again. She looks at me, but doesn't move. I say "Get over here!" She grabs whatever is holding her interest and begins to walk toward me. It's a Dead Thing. She's got something long dead and extremely stinky in her mouth. "Drop it!" She ignores me. "DROP IT!" She leaves the Dead Thing and begins to run, because I have started to run. Lucy would never want to miss out on something. We get to the back door, and the smell hits me. I am stopped cold, hand hovering over the door, because Lucy smells just like Dead Thing. And she cannot come into the house smelling like that.

I debate for a bit as to what to do. Knowing Smang is about to arrive home, I consider waiting and playing stupid. Nah, then I'd just have to smell her until the problem is solved. Lucy's looking through the sliding glass door, and we all know she does sad face very well. I open the door, grab her collar, and walk her to bathroom. Before we hit the hallway, she intuits what we're doing. She puts her Howard Hughes-length toenails into the ground. I drag her. She struggles. I say "Give it up. You're getting a bath or you're moving out." Knowing she's got a good gig here, Lu hops reluctantly into the tub and begins making a series of the most pitiful faces anyone has ever seen, all the while, inching ever closing the edge of the tub, as though my entire being is not blocking the tub's exit. She gets a shampoo with her Lush (which smells like a campfire), and then she got washed with some honey-scented soap. Now, she's stopped looking pitiful and started giving me "go to hell" looks. I laugh. She gets out of the tub, and proceeds to shake vigorously. I remind her that she isn't really a predator anymore, and disguising her smell with Dead Thing will always result in a bath. After I give her a treat, she agrees to the terms and conditions of this verbal contract.

Later that same day...

I'm lying on the couch. It's about 10pm. I have taught three yoga classes, and bathed my mutt. I am tired. Lu has been let outside for her evening rounds. Believing we have a deal, I do not stand at the door and watch her. When she returns to the house, with some coaxing, I take no notice of her. She comes into the office, where Smang and Brownie are making their own version of evening rounds. Brownie begins to lick the scruff of Lucy's neck very intensely. And then, there it is again. The stench of the long dead. It's even worse this time. See, since I am a squeamish little bitch, I left Dead Thing right where Lucy dropped it. She went out that night, saw it where she left it, and was like "aw, hellz yeah!", and rolled on it. Again.

So, I bolt up on the couch and yell "Lu got into the Dead Thing again!"

"Oh my god!", Smang screams.

"I know! I KNOW!", I am trying not to gag. I grab Lucy by her collar and we head back to the bathroom. She gets mad. I tell her to stuff it. She barks and then gives a sad little whine. "oh please, Lucy. I taught you that pitiful act. I'm not falling for it." She gets another shampoo, and two washings with the honey soap. I used it all up.

This morning, she smells all right. To me.

To Lucy, she is still pissed that despite her best efforts, she doesn't smell like decroded woodland creature. She's probably plotting my death right this second.