But First A Bath
Madison, canine blogger, again.
I get to teach a class in Goshen, Indiana for folks attending the 20th Annual Alzheimer’s Seminar at Greencroft Goshen (Indiana) about dogs as helpers on September 4th. My name is even in the title: “Madison: A Caregiver’s Helper.”
Later, on September 5th, I get to hang out with quilters while Mom does some lectures. This event is sponsored by the Maple Leaf Quilters and will also be held at Greencroft Goshen. It includes a special tour of “Alzheimer’s: Forgetting Piece by Piece.”
Mom thought it would be a good idea if I had a bath first. You may remember reading about my unfortunate previous experience with the B-word after I was skunked. I’m much better now.
And, since I think anything having to do with me is incredibly fascinating, I thought I’d share some pictures of my bath this morning. This will give Mom plenty of time to pack the car since we’re leaving in about 12 minutes.
My bath is really a shower and Mom takes her shower at the same time. You don’t get to see either of us naked. (This is a family blog.) But here I am wrapped up in my towels. (Can you see my nose?) I have to wait in the tub after my “shake” (not the handshake kind I do with my front paw, but the kind where I spray water all over everybody). Mom keeps the shower curtain closed and I know to do it on command INSIDE the tub.
So after we’re done and Mom dries off, she wraps one towel longways over my head and back. Then another towel goes under me and around my middle. I stand there patiently until I am mummified.
Then I step gingerly out of the tub. After all, I can hardly see out of the towel and I might slip on something. Mom has put the big towels all over the floor of the bathroom before we start. This is the international sign for BATH. If you’re a dog you should put your tail between your legs as soon as you see this many towels on the floor. Your human is NOT doing laundry.
So, after I get out I lay down and rest. Bathing is hard work. There’s all that standing there doing nothing while Mom bends over shampooing and rinsing, rubbing and rinsing, cleaning my hair out of the drain and rinsing. And then I have to wait around while SHE shampoos, soaps, and rinses. Sometimes she has enough time to shave a leg.
Then I rub my head on the floor, which is why the towels are there apparently. I pump my legs and push my head along the wall and under the cabinet. If I had the room I’d go in circles and make pinwheels. I find this invigorating and it’s how I get out of my mummy wrappings.
And then I lick every possible part of my body to remove the annoying clean smell left from the shampoo. By this time Mom is dressed, smeared stuff on her face, and wants to plug in the hair dryer. That’s my cue to escape. I don’t know if it’s the hot flashes or the steam from the shower, but she always open the door. And I’m outta there…!
Looks like we’re ready to hit the road. Mom says I smell good enough to ride up front with her. See you in Indiana!