Bathing for Modernity

Another bath for me and, this time, even for Shane. During bath time, I acted very respectful and sat patiently for the first ten—well, five—minutes, and then I ran away. But, just my luck, the yard is fenced in, and very quickly I figured out that the inevitable would soon rear its ugly shower head and I’d have to get all submissive again.

It was worth running away just to see the look of surprise on Joan’s face. She had been so sure of me. Yes, I had put on the big calm act and sat there while she sprayed me down and lathered me up. Oh, yeah. I had her so fooled that she got a little lackadaisical and forgot to remind me to be patient, to be a good dog—you know, all the things people say when they’re trying to wash a dog my size.

Then, she turned around for a second to get the dog comb and off I went, escaping with rare wild abandon into the green cushion of backyard grass. I couldn’t run into the front yard or the neighbors would have seen all those shampoo bubbles bubbling and popping along the tufts of my wet fur, and, wow, that would have been embarrassing.

Shane cheered me on at first, but Joan looked at him and said, “Don’t laugh, Shaney Boy. You’re next.” Shane looked away as though he hadn’t heard; but, he also stopped smiling.

Joan did that thing where she points to the ground and says, “Juno, come, now.” The spot she’s pointing to is where I know I’m supposed to arrive. I hesitated, just to let her know I didn’t have to come. But, then she said it again, and, anyway, the shampoo was starting to make me smell too un-dog-like, and so I went back to her and got it rinsed off. I have to admit that the water was warm and soothing, but I don’t have to admit that I like this washing thing that people do.

People don’t like to smell like people, and they don’t like dogs to smell like dogs. It must have been so earthy to have lived during the Middle Ages and the Renaissance when people and their dogs smelled really ripe. Well, there were a few exceptions, I’m sure. For instance, Leonardo da Vinci took baths; also he didn’t eat animals. If I had been Leonardo da Vinci’s dog, I probably would have gotten baths, but he certainly wouldn’t have eaten me. But, hey, he was a genius, and geniuses are a rarity, or they wouldn’t be called geniuses.

Yeah, those were the good old days when natural was in vogue, when a person could stink up a room and no one noticed, when a dog could smell like a swamp and everyone would think it was normal.

But, then again, look at that picture of me and Shane right after the bath ordeal. We’re a couple of fine looking dogs, don’t you think? And, even if we don’t care about smelling all girly, I guess our people pleasing smell makes it easier for everyone to show us their love and admiration.

Best wishes, Juno