It's Time, Part Two
This morning, I will not need valium and my cunning spirit to out think my turtle overlord. Remember when I had to clean the turtle tank? (You can read about it here) That involves juggling of tank bits while never turning my back on the Turtle. Today, however, requires sheer strength and quite a bit of limberness.
It's time to give the Schnoodle a bath and he knows it. I'll have to contort myself into positions worthy of the Kama Sutra to drag the furry beast out from under the bed. All four of his paws will be splayed outwards, desperately seeking any purchase to prolong the march to the bathroom. You might be surprised at how heavy seventeen pounds of passive resistance wielding Schnoodle really is.
Now, because I plan ahead, the bathroom will be ready. A hand towel will be in the bottom of the bathtub so the Schnoodle has traction in the tub. Extra towels will cover the floor, the me, and every thing else that I can cover to keep dry. Shampoo and rinse cup will be at hand. That will all be in vain if I don't actually manage to get the Schnoodle into the bathroom.
Once we get into the bathroom and I shut the door behind us, it's like a cage match. Only one of us will leave in better condition than when we went in -- hint, it ain't me. He does stay still for the actual bathing and he does love the drying off. By the time he is all sweet-smelling and clean, the Schnoodle is done with the entire process.
The best part of this process is what we call "Releasing the Schnoodle of War." The bathroom door opens and we all step out of the way. Like a small, furry, still damp missile, the Schnoodle takes off. Up the hallway, down the hallway, under the Boy's bed and out the other side, under our bed and out the other side, circling around and around from the living room to the dining room through the kitchenj, rinse and repeat (see what I did there? Ha!).
As he enjoys the sweet-smelling feel of freedom, a few treaties, and running as though he were ac actual dog and not a fuzzy doorstop, I sag against the wall. The bathroom needs to be mopped up, the bathtub needs to be cleaned out, and I need to change into dry clothes. I glance over and the Turtle is staring at me, a knowing grin on his amphibian face. He knows I still prefer bathing the Schnoodle. It may be strenuous but at least I'm not worried that the Schnoodle will try to take over the world.
Until next time, Turtle....
It's time to give the Schnoodle a bath and he knows it. I'll have to contort myself into positions worthy of the Kama Sutra to drag the furry beast out from under the bed. All four of his paws will be splayed outwards, desperately seeking any purchase to prolong the march to the bathroom. You might be surprised at how heavy seventeen pounds of passive resistance wielding Schnoodle really is.
Now, because I plan ahead, the bathroom will be ready. A hand towel will be in the bottom of the bathtub so the Schnoodle has traction in the tub. Extra towels will cover the floor, the me, and every thing else that I can cover to keep dry. Shampoo and rinse cup will be at hand. That will all be in vain if I don't actually manage to get the Schnoodle into the bathroom.
Once we get into the bathroom and I shut the door behind us, it's like a cage match. Only one of us will leave in better condition than when we went in -- hint, it ain't me. He does stay still for the actual bathing and he does love the drying off. By the time he is all sweet-smelling and clean, the Schnoodle is done with the entire process.
The best part of this process is what we call "Releasing the Schnoodle of War." The bathroom door opens and we all step out of the way. Like a small, furry, still damp missile, the Schnoodle takes off. Up the hallway, down the hallway, under the Boy's bed and out the other side, under our bed and out the other side, circling around and around from the living room to the dining room through the kitchenj, rinse and repeat (see what I did there? Ha!).
As he enjoys the sweet-smelling feel of freedom, a few treaties, and running as though he were ac actual dog and not a fuzzy doorstop, I sag against the wall. The bathroom needs to be mopped up, the bathtub needs to be cleaned out, and I need to change into dry clothes. I glance over and the Turtle is staring at me, a knowing grin on his amphibian face. He knows I still prefer bathing the Schnoodle. It may be strenuous but at least I'm not worried that the Schnoodle will try to take over the world.
Until next time, Turtle....
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