October 3, 2013

White Dog laughed as she heard the bathroom door close. "Doesn't dad know he is NOT going to win this battle?" she asked. "The best he can hope for is a truce leveraged with a huge bribe." "Do not underestimate your dad," I cautioned. "Nothing worse than two stubborn men."

Finally! NOW can we have breakfast?

YoYoMa has been driving himself, and all of us who have to hear the dramatic grunting and jingling at all hours, nuts with scratching. It is allergy season here, made worse by the heavy rains, and all of the White Dog Army are showing signs of affliction. But Yo has been relentless to the point of chewing a hot spot on his tail nearly raw.

First thing this morning Steve announced that our biggest boy was getting a bath. He gathered all of the sensitive skin shampoos and deep conditioners and gave Yet Another White Dog a preliminary brushing (which my brave protector whined and cried through). Then he took off the collar and herbal flea collar.

YoYoMa look stunned. The White Dog Army stopped in their tracks. This was going to happen BEFORE breakfast? "Come on Big Boy," Steve said as he hoisted the shocked white floof into his arms. "Spa time!"

As they splashed and cleaned, the bathing noise stopped periodically to accommodate shaking moments. I pulled off the blankets leaving the sheets that needed changing and put down several layers of towels to make a drying station on the bed. "Here we come!" and the dripping Yo and nearly equally wet Steve emerged and waded through the curious white dog onlookers. My boy was deposited on the bed and I enrobed him in a couple of towels. I had a pretty good chance to blot off his coat before he demanded down and shook...and then headed out of the dog door.

"Hey! Come back in here," Steve yelled as our blind boy nimbly made his way out into the yard where he threw himself on the ground and began to twist and roll. "Stop that! Come! I just washed all of that pollen off of you," Steve tried again. Steve stomped out of the bedroom; the White Dog Army and I watched as he went into the yard and snapped his collar on the still rolling YoYoMa. Then he brought the unrepentant boy in.

He did not stop but marched both of them into the bathroom and closed the door. We all heard the water running again. The door opened a crack and we heard Steve request more dry towels at the ready. Seems like our YAWD had not only rolled his wet body around in the dirt and what passes for grass; he had also managed to find some body's (pup or uninvited cat) poop. Bath Part II was underway.

Shortly after, the duo emerged, neither looking too happy. As Steve handed him off, he grabbed the metal door and slid shut access to the dog panel. "That should take care of things," he said smugly. "Thankfully none of the other members of the WDA seem to have a need," I commented as YoYoMa once again asked to be let down.

He managed to find enough water remaining in his furs to shower us all with a shake then bumped the door as he tried to push his way through to outside. "Stay in, Yo" I told him as he stubbornly kept trying to get out. He stopped for a moment. "I'll open the door when you are drier and won't go out rolling again," Steve told him.

At that YoYoMa got mad. We all saw the change and the WDA moved away. It was high noon at the OK Corral. Yo sniffed Steve's foot and then deliberately peed at his feet. Then my angry White Boy slid down into the puddle and squirmed. "So there," he seemed to say. "I do not need to go outside to cancel your work!"

I could feel Steve mentally counting to ten...then twenty. He took a deep breath. The WDA opened a clear passage. He took YAWD by the collar, reopened the dog door for the others and led today's Bad Boy BACK into the bathroom. He asked for towels and the blow dryer to be left outside the door. "We are not coming out until this boy is clean and dry!" he announced. Bath Part III was about to begin.