Hair of the dog...literally
She Said: Calm. Assertive. These are the goals of the pack leader. These are not, however, the words I would use to describe our state of mind the night Tony bathed Gabbi, our house guest for the next three months.
Gabbi: Casey's girlfriend. Doesn't know she's entered her geriatric years. Has a knee injury, but loves long walks, jumping on people and playing rough with Casey. Enjoys carrying toys out into the yard in her mouth. Hates baths.
Tony was on top of the world when he returned from a long walk with both dogs. A good time for baths, he reasoned. Casey was first and, despite his habit of wedging his nose firmly in the corner of the wall, was on his best behavior. Tony was on a roll. Gabbi's turn.
I was in the kitchen boiling pasta and chopping sun-dried tomatoes. As I reached for the olive oil, I heard the frantic scratching of nails in the wet tub and Tony yelling. Into the kitchen comes a big black dog covered in white suds.
"NO, GABBI! NO NO NO NO NO!" I shrieked. Yeah, that's calm.
I tried to herd her back into the bathroom with my body, trying pointlessly to avoid getting the smell of wet soapy dog on my freshly laundered jeans. I quickly realized it was more important to keep the furry foam out of our dinner. The jeans could go back in the wash.
We got her back in the tub and Tony finished her bath with the door closed. Novel concept, right? Well, we've never had to worry about Casey traipsing through the house all soaped up, so it didn't occur to us to shut the door. The rest of the bath went easily, but the clean up was not so.
Here's our recipe for Black Lab Surprise: Take Gabbi, add soap and water, and watch her shake. Surprise! There's wet, black hair on every imaginable surface. Tony was astounded.
We both failed miserably at pack leadership that night. We each had moments when we completely lost it. I, when wet Gabbi entered my culinary domain and Tony, at the sight of all that hair. At least we were able to enjoy a delicious, fur-free meal.