I washed Tigger the Dog on Tuesday. We had a friend coming in on Wednesday and Mom due in on Friday so I tricked her into the bathroom for a bath. Where she went limp like a toddler in a temper tantrum and refused to get into the tub. Fifteen minutes of her and me going at it. I’d lift her; she’d roll and collapse on the floor. I’d tempt her with the treat; she’d stand, realize I was just being an ass and collapse upside down on the floor. It is very hard to get an eighty-pound dog off her back and over two feet of tub wall. But I did and two hours later I had a slightly damp clean dog.
And then, the sky opened up and released a torrent of – well, cats and dogs. The ground turned to a thick chocolate mess of mud and muck. And yesterday morning, when I let TTD out for her morning pee, she decided to jump off the porch steps into the muck and chase a wayward chipmunk at full speed. Because that’s what happens when you clean a dog, it rains and she then chases chipmunks and you no longer have a clean Golden Labrador but a dirty two-toned mix of Chocolate underside and Golden top. And then the vacuumed decided to protest the incoming guests and quit sucking. Or rather, only started sucking ironically. Not sure if that works. I learned my English from Alanis. Anyway, Friend was due in at four o’clock. I set about vacuuming at two o’clock. Enough time to get it all the dog hair that has been molting off TTD and forming little lab sized balls of hair in all the corners. Tiny poofs that move when the air goes on, dance about when I walk by and multiply every time I seem to turn around. I pulled the vacuum out of the cupboard and turned it on – nothing. Not one puppy poof was threatened. All the vacuum did is push them from corner to corner to corner. It’s as if it was trying to form a full dog. Good news, I could pick mini puppy fur up with my hands. Bad news, pretty sure that doesn’t count as clean. Because it happens without fail; you wash the dog – it rains cats and dogs. You’ve got a friend coming into town – the vacuum breaks. You go to the doctor – she asks you to undress and you take off your top and then notice the blinds are open and the folks in the parking lot can she all your jiggly bits. Oh, is that just me? Am I the only one who goes in for a strep test and ends up with my top off flashing the masses below because the doc is sending me for an X-ray for possible pneumonia? Am I the only one who, once realizing that the binds are open, duck down to the floor of the room I’m in and attempt to put the stupid gown on - backwards as requested - and then try to tie it while hunched down on the floor only to find that it’s missing the crucial string needed to tie it shut and keep the world outside from seeing my side boob? Am I the only one that, after the X-ray - that actually included a part where he asked me to hold my hands over my head and the whole freaking gown became a large front bib barely covering my important bits! Am I the only one that makes the awkward walk back through the receptionist pit with my back flap open, trying to keep my unharnessed breastisists from sneaking out for some air, get back into the room and instead of closing the blinds, duck down and change back into my street clothes? Am I the only that didn’t process that closing the blinds would have made this whole thing less X-rated? In my defense, my brain is mostly snot right now and it was raining the aforementioned cats and dogs and who wants a gander at my jiggly bits enough to hang out in the parking lot and ogle them? I don’t know. But if you do see them online later, please be kind. Blinds are not slimming.
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AuthorMy name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me Archives
April 2019
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