Adventures In Dog Sitting: Mickey Makeover! (Part 3)
Enough is enough! Mickey is stinking up the place and I need to give him a grooming he’ll never forget. The pups tell their side of the squeaky clean events that unfolded.
Mickey definitely belongs to a guy. Some dead giveaways:
- He stinks like a man dog
- His only sweater is a) ugly; and b) hasn’t been washed since the dog was born.
- He farts while sitting on my lap, ass positioned in direct line of fire to my face.
- He snores like a fleet of fighter jets taking off.
I’ve had enough of this. This is on top of being in a constant state of panic because I’m a neat freak, and everything Mickey touches is soon covered in:
- White Fur
My delicate sense of smell can’t take his doggy man stinky anymore.
Dude, it’s time for a bath.
Now, before Mickey hits the tub, I text to ask Greg if this is okay and how he likes the tub. Greg doesn’t mind, but he’s also not sure what Mickey will be like during his spa day. I take it to mean that this odorous flower has never had a proper doggy scrub-down in his life. I’m going to make it a good one. I’m going in with my toughest arsenal – Madra Mor Mud Treatment. I’m using Lavender, because I love the smell (it’s calming and I could use some more of that right now) and this formula is anti-shedding. Mickey could stand to lose a little less hair.
Again, I’m turning it over to the dogs for their version of how things really went down.
Okay, I’m turning on the charm… but Amy lady is not warming up to me. I’ve tried everything: Peeing and pooping on the floor; crying to be let up on the bed at 3 a.m.; running away from her so she thinks I’m playing hard to get when she tries to put on my leash; helping Oscar eat his food (after all, I don’t want the lady to get mad at him when he hasn’t finished his dinner). Seriously, I’ve tried it all. And now, she wants to give me something called a bath. What is this thing? Can I eat it? Can I pee on it? If it falls into one of those two categories, I can’t wait to meet it!
I had high hopes for this bath – I saw Amy lady take a jar of peanut butter into the strange-smelling room. That’s a good sign… or so I thought. I knew something wasn’t right when I heard water running and she picked me up. That’s never a good sign!
GAH! I don’t want to be wet! I want to be dry and comfortable in my fort! Yes, there’s peanut butter on the rim of this white, slippery prison, but I don’t trust her. Still, I don’t want to anger her, so I’ll just lick the PB while she lathers me in the foul-smelling goop.
I have to admit, I kinda like the massage and rubdown this bath comes with. But I’m not going to let her see my enjoyment. No – I’m going to stare at her with huge, sorrowful eyes until she takes pity on me and lets me out of this oval puzzle of no escape (although I have tried to find a way out, I have failed at every turn… confound the crafty human!).
What’s this?!? More water?!? And just when I was getting used to the goop. Wait… what’s that sucking noise? FOR THE LOVE OF SWEET POTATO JERKY – THIS WHIRLPOOL GOING TO SUCK ME DOWN INTO THE BOWELS OF NO RETURN! OSCAR, RUN… SAVE YOURSELF!
False alarm. All is well. It turns out that I wasn’t being sucked down the drain… it was just all that dirty water. Before I got a chance to shake my money maker and return the wet favor, the lady patted me down with a towel (don’t worry, I still got her with some leftover bath remnants). To add insult to injury, she says she’s not done with me. A few spritzes of doggy cologne, and it’s off for a photo shoot. Today, I’ll be modeling a pink, frilly tutu and matching sparkly headband.
The humiliation never ceases. Man, I hope these pictures never get out! Even if they don’t, you can be sure I’ll be leaving the bathmaster a stinky little present tonight. Try to give it a bath, Amy!
You may smell better, but I’m still going to need you to keep your distance. However, when you’re sleeping, I will now go in for a closer butt sniff. I am partial to the aroma of lavender. It reminds me of my young days as a pup, bounding through the lavender fields of Tuscany. Ah, what a magical, effervescent and intoxicating time – to be youthful again. (Amy’s note: Oscar has never been to Tuscany. He just likes to give the impression that he’s much more sophisticated that he really is.)
Next up: It’s Mickey’s last day with us. What kind of lasting impression will he have made?