Beinn Appa, weighing in at a trim 110 pounds, wearing a PigPen cloud of stink, reluctantly allowed himself to be lifted into the tub, back legs first. He didn't like it, but he stayed put once the shampooing began. His thick double, triple, holy-crap-is-this-even-possible coat took a lot of work just to wet, much less shampoo and condition. I noticed a few minutes ago when I scritched above his tail that I didn't get every bit of product out. But he will survive. I asked him to do his shaking in the tub, and he refused. So all over the bathroom, living room, and dining room were painted with water droplets. He tolerated a little brushing, but he was pretty overstimulated by the time I got to his low back. He was rewarded with a lot of cuddle time later, when I took a nap through the hottest part of the afternoon.
His progeny was another story altogether. Saoirse Louise Ferguson was having none of it. She wouldn't be steered into the bathroom. She fought being dragged into the bathroom as well, and hooked her big feet on either side of the door, to resist being pushed in. With great effort, I got her into the room and shut the door. I started the spray, to get it to temperature, and then tried to get her into the tub. I tugged. I lifted. I commanded. She thrashed and kicked. At one point I had her front feet over the edge of the tub, but when I took the water and touched the tiniest tip of her paw to show her it wasn't bad, she flew backwards to the door. I tried back end first like Beinn, and that was like grabbing a wild rabbit by the foot (kickkickkick). If I could deadlift 80 pounds still, that girl would be clean and fluffy by now. Instead, she is still stinky and my muscles are exhausted, even now, at bedtime. I'm not giving up. I will enlist a henchman (housemate 2) tomorrow or next week at the latest. No more stinky dogs. I have spoken.
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