See Spa, RUN

I was minding my own business a few days ago, gnawing my beloved knuckle bone by the house tree. (JK have given up trying to keep me in the kitchen with that bone. I love the house tree so much).   K had gone to Charleston for the day and Buzz was asleep in his bed.  Except that K was gone, life was pretty perfect.

 J was drinking coffee and eating a piece of Christmas toffee she made, that she said wasn’t very good-- but she still eats it like candy.  I should know by now that when J eats candy, she has these energy bursts.  There is an equation, just like 2+2=?     (I can’t add). 

(Energy burst) (lawn care and trimming flowers) = (Freedom in front yard) + (stealing J’s gloves out of gardening wagon) = good. 

(Energy burst) (upstairs to the big extra bathroom) + (running water –oh oh)  = not so good.

Bad news today. She went upstairs.  I know that fake sing-song tone of voice, come on, Maxie, come on up!  Shower spray from that hose nozzle, clean towels, shampoo.  Who is she kidding.  I stand down at the bottom of the stairs and tell her, Not gonna happen. 

This doesn’t faze J.  She just comes down, gets my leash, loops it in a hangman’s noose around my neck, picks up Buzz, and lugs/pulls us up the steps.  Buzz makes himself as heavy as he can, drooping his gut and dangling his back legs like a silent tantrum-throwing child.  J is breathless by Step 5.  But she perseveres and we make it to the top. We all go into the bathroom and she shuts the door.  There is no escape.  Dang toffee!! I am resigned to my fate.

There are some times when I know I’m going to have a bath.  Like the day JK were talking to Macy and her lady, and I was hot from chasing my ball, so I wallowed in the huge, deep, red mud puddle in the church parking lot, by the road. Pigs and buffalo know what they’re talking about!

And I thought mud was supposed to be a great spa treatment!  Not in this house, apparently. I was so “filthy” that when we got home, K had to take me down to the lake and have me dive in a few times before I could go into the house. Then it was right up the stairs to the waiting tub.  I’d do it again though. The mud felt awesome and –bonus!! - dyed my lower body a fine Irish Setter red for about 2 weeks.

But usually, Buzz and I just get brushed.  JK says to us, “You want to get handsome?” Oh we LOVE getting handsome.  I jump up on the step to the back door, and they comb me with my little purple comb.  I don’t like the brush. Only the comb.  Buzz gets the currycomb because J says he has such a thick undercoat.  He says it’s due to his racehorse-like muscular structure. 

J actually googled, “How often should I bathe my dog.” She got 161,000 results. Around 80,500 people who bathe their dogs a lot believe that you should bathe your dog a lot. And 80,000 people who don’t bathe their dogs a lot, don’t think you need to. And judging by the comments and questions J read, the remaining 500 should probably not enroll in any best of breed dog shows/spelling bees anytime soon. 

That is what she told me she found out about dog bathing.  Yay, Google! Information highway!!

I feel lucky that JK are generally in the “don’t need to” category.   But that was no help to us on this day.  I hate Christmas baking whims.  Buzz got his first. J can scrub him down in no time flat because he’s small and his fur is short and he stands very still.  I’ve learned from him that I have to stay in the tub.  But I don’t have to like it!! 

J gets Buzz all dried off and he actually goes ancient crackerdog for a brief moment.  Then he sits down to lick himself all over, and J picks me up, all 56 pounds, and wrestles me into the tub.  I try Buzz’s trick of being as limp and heavy as possible, but she retaliates with her best squat thrust.  She is actually pretty strong for an old lady.  The toffee offsets her muscle-weakening laughter.  And my best hangdog look doesn’t warm her Cruella heart, not a bit.

J engages in some toffee-fueled wrestling moves.
Buzz says they are illegal, by the way.

I can be your hero, baby.

The shampoo is especially for dogs.  It’s purple, but it turns my fur so white! How weird is that!  The conditioner smells like coconut.  Then I get rinsed and rinsed, and rinsed some more, (oh my word you have so much fur, Maxwell) then J pulls the shower curtain shut and says, shake yourself off Maxie and I do that a few times, then she lets me hop out.  I shake again and then – OK, I admit, I like this part. J dries me off with a towel.  I LOVE the towel!  She ties it around my neck like a superhero and then rubs me down.  I wrestle and growl. I am sooo happy to be out of that tub.

She opens the door. Buzz, fuzzy and chubby, makes a beeline for the stairs and his bed.  I know what’s coming next.  OK, and I admit, I love this too.  Blow-dry!  One day J was drying her hair upside down. I watched for a while and then just sort of snuck in there and stood where I could feel the air on my fur.  Now when she blow-dries her hair, I get a turn.  She fluffs up my neck and aims the warm air on it. Heaven.   And that Kerestase oil!  J’s girl C gave it to her, but I love it too. So she rubs the extra into my fur when she uses it for herself – and I smell so good.  It’s a regular spa, you are so spoiled Maxie, she says. 

One of us is bedraggled. And it's not me.

Then she says, Go show K how handsome you are and when he's home, I run down to K’s office and if the door is open, I give him a show and a smell. He presses the mute button on his conference call and gives me a pat and an admiring comment. He appreciates the break from his routine.  I know he does.

So yeah...take it from me, a purebred wiered haird Maxima, you definitely want those flee drops reapplied for the next time the dread tub is looming – and in the meantime, for a soft red coat, maybe do the puddle dog treatments now and then?????????????????????????????????????? 

I would never tell JK this, but I love how I feel after my bath.  The good, the bad, and the handsome… Oh, and the toffee.  It’s all a part of the spa.