The other day I overheard one of my bros talking with the female about a bath….for ME.
Now bath is not a word that gets bandied around with my name attached. The few times the two were linked were memorable.
Is it possible they have forgotten what happened when they tied my leash to the fence? Did not go as planned, did it? Hmm? Let’s just say the fence needed to be repaired after THAT little experiment.
Granted, there have been a few, select times I tolerated a bath. For example, when after we were hiking, the family seemed loath to touch me just because I went exploring some lovely, fluffy green plants.
I didn’t submit easily. There were, of course, conditions. Warm water. A steady supply treats. A cup to pour water over me. Hose? No, absolutely not. Just say no to the hose.
Baring those few, VERY FEW, exceptions, we’ve gone alone quite well without bathing.
Do I smell?
No, I do not smell.
Do I look dirty?
Please, of course not. I have standards.
Apparently my bro’s friend bathes her dog. Well, to each his own. If that dog likes bathes, whatever, I don’t.
There’s also the matter of the blackish oil that gets on her fingers when she pets me. Apparently, she’s remarked on it. Fine, so you don’t like it. Then don’t pet me. No one is making you do that.
Those are ESSENTIAL OILS. Are you paying attention? ESSENTIAL, as in, they belong there and should, under no circumstances, be washed away.
It’s what gives my coat its beautiful sheen.
Further, aren’t you all supposed to be washing your hands all the time anyway?
It’s fine, I don’t need to be thanked. I like doing my part to keep you healthy and safe.
Photo courtesy of rover.com ThinkstockPhotos-163648195