Barnaby gets a bath

For three months, my dog has frolicked throughout the muckiest fields of Gettysburg without compunction.  He has joyfully chased frisbees through fields with really poor drainage, and when he was tired, his preferred spot to cool down was a mud puddle.  Last week, I finally realized that there was just no avoiding the fact: my dog’s overwhelming scent rivaled that of a skunk with halitosis that had just eaten a giant wedge of Stinking Bishop, the world’s smelliest cheese.

The dreaded hour had arrived.  It was…Bath Time.

The problem: my shower is roughly the size of a large wardrobe, and the water-saving showerhead was not only non-detachable, but it had not enough pressure to penetrate Barnaby’s strangely water-repellent coat.  My neighbor came to the rescue, switching my showerhead with his own detachable model.  The space would just have to do.

Getting the dog in the shower was easier than I thought, though he did his level best to camouflage himself as a pair of shoes.

“If I can’t see her, she can’t see me…”

Abandoning himself to his fate once he realized that closing his eyes did NOT mean that he was invisible to everyone else, Barnaby went to the shower like a convict to the noose.

“I regret that I have but one more minute to wag my tail adorably in the hopes that you forget this whole thing.”

Once in the shower, Barnaby, caught between the equally futile instincts of Fight or Flight, chose the less-familiar but blessedly non-violent option of Freeze.  Though his mood deteriorated throughout the course of the shower, he did not once try to escape, nor did he actively seek my demise.  I kept up a running commentary along the lines of, “OOOO’s a GOOD boy, then!  Oooooo’s such a handsome dog!  Pretty pretty puppy!”  Upon reflection, it’s pretty amazing he didn’t try to bite my arm off.

“At this very moment, I am contemplating eating that camera when you’re not looking.”

Finally, our favorite moment arrived.  The moment my dog leaves the shower, he transforms from the most pitiable character you can imagine to a hyper whirlwind of joy without inhibition–or, as it turns out, traction.  But it’s ok.  The walls could take it.

After he’d gotten the first dash of crazy out of his system, I made him pose for pictures.

All dressed up and ready to go.

You may be thinking that it looks as though my dog is ready for a hot date.  You’d be right!  I’m glad to announce that Barnaby, in lieu of an actually lady friend, as wooed and won a log as his new girlfriend.  He and Log met at compline this past Monday.  She’d narrowly avoided being burned in our brand new fire pit, and was resting on the edge of our gathering place in the quad when Barnaby first saw her.  It was love at first sight.  Barnaby spent the entirely of compline in a highly inappropriate PDA with Log: finding her too big to chew on, as he has on his flings with mere sticks in the past, he contented himself with nibbling and, yes, Frenching.  Now Barnaby and Log are virtually inseparable; he takes her out every night to compline, and carries her home to spend the night on the porch outside our dorm.  He checks to make sure she’s still there every time we go out.

So if anyone’s been wondering why that log outside Baughman is there, and appears slightly smaller every day, now you know why.

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