White Dog snickered as she suggested we call this post "On the Throne Thursday."
The main bathroom in our house is sized to befit nearly 80 year old age of the building. It is functional but small; there are no spaces for a separate shower, or a spa, or a quiet sitting area like you see in fancy magazines. If you lie down with your feet at the threshold, the average person can easily touch the tub with his or her head. At White Dog Ranch the bathroom holds an old iron tub against the window wall, the commode about 10" away on the plumbing wall, and next to it, the sink with medicine cabinet hanging above. When you sit, your knees nearly touch the far wall which holds the towel rack and open door. Not a lot of luxury but functional.
I do not believe the original designers of this craftsman home kit with its efficient floorplan ever truly imagined that the room would need to also hold a blizzard of White Dogs.
I cannot remember when last I was able to close the door because I am easily driven to personal frenzy by such crying and scratching and wailing and howling that results. Needless to say, this post does not include photos, but I think you will clearly "see" what the human experience is like, at least for family (we DO insist on better manners in the treatment of guests).
There is a mad rush for the WDA to get into the room before I do so that the prime supervisory positions can be nabbed. Both White Dog and Zsofia like to snake in between the tub and the toilet; Zso gets great delight licking your thigh as you sit. Bella, my constant companion, claims the area in front of the sink close enough to nuzzle my hand asking for attention. Sachi stretches out next to her and guards the doorway. Taiko likes to stand, blocking the rest of the room and rest his head on my knee. Generally Puff and YoYoMa sit right outside the open door.
Yesterday there was a wave in the already crowded room as Candace's old blind girl, Jupiter, waddled in to join us...behind my feet.
This arrangement does have some positive elements...I have become quite limber in doing what is needed for personal hygiene (this is always a good thing when you get to be my age)...there are LOTS of "Lassies" to run for the Ranger should I need help...the entire White Dog Army knows the rule of no touching until after hand washing (if only I could get Michael so acclimated).
Of course getting the gang to understand that we are there to accomplish a mission and then leave is sometimes a challenge as members settle into nap positions on my feet or block exit. And no one is ever willing to leave the room first so often I must shuffle through the crowd to convince them that it is not a trick, I AM going back to whatever it was that we were previously doing...but only after taking the time to personally pet and thank each supervisor for attending to me.
All of this has caused me to develop a "how bad is the urge to go?" scale...with practice I have been able to get to at least a "9" before surrendering to the process. And if I try to sneak in while the Army is elsewhere occupied...like greeting the mailman? The discovery prompts a mad rush to join me at a greater press than usual just to make sure I don't sneak away again.