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Max loved outdoor baths, but it was too dark out. That meant I had to convince Max that my walk-in shower stall was a place of special fun. No problem. I’d just make sure Max knew this was a joyous, fun-filled time for all involved, offering good cheer and lots of dog treats. I got the doggie shampoo ready, then positioned everything strategically in shower, just in case of escape attempt. I put on a bathing suit since I don’t own a rubber wet suit with scuba mask.
Using my most soothing, upbeat voice, I called for Max. When he arrived in the bathroom, tongue lolling, I said, “Max, bath?” Max happily went right to the toilet for a drink somehow confusing ‘bath’ with porcelain drinking bowl. “No, Max. No drinking from the toilet.”
I wondered how to outsmart a one-year-old German shepherd who nearly outweighed me. I had a Master’s degree, I could do this.
I could not do this. Max was sly and cunning. Okay. I would just think like a deceptive and wily German Shepherd. I tossed his favorite dog treat into the dry shower area. Max tilted his head at me. I tilted mine right back. I hung my tongue out looking with greed at the dog treat. As Max is gluttonous, he pounced into the shower, and gulped down the biscuit. I jumped in and quickly closed the shower door. I immediately took a stance much like a sumo wrestler.
Just as I turned the water on, making sure the temperature was just right and holding the spray nozzle above Max’s rear end, he emitted the loudest doomsday whine in the history of dogs. Howls echoed against the shower tiles nearly bursting my eardrums. I knew this was just another ploy to get his way. I would just ignore him. A bath was not the end of the world.
Oh God, it sounded like Max was dying. He was throwing a full-blown tantrum, barking, whining, screeching, pounding the floor with his paws, biting the water, scowling at me. Jeez, it was just soap not acid.
I should have played upbeat music to drown out noisy dog in case neighborhood suspected murder.
Made a mental note to finish reading Danny the Dog Drawler’s dog training book in case there was a bit at the end on baths I’d missed.
I got so carried away washing and scrubbing thick coat of jumbo-sized dog, I forgot to block the shower door. Max quivered once, then made his move. I tried to grab him, realizing too late he was slick as snail snot and had no handles. He hit the door, it banged open, and fully loaded with soap, water, and covered in bubbles, Max raced for the bedroom, then stopped short when he saw the bathroom door was closed. Ha! Gotcha, I smugly thought to myself. Escape attempt unsuccessful.
Smug thoughts disappeared as rotten dog braced, stared directly at me, and gave an evil squint. I squinted back, and too late forgot how much Max liked to win. I heard myself yell almost in slow motion, “Max! Nooooo...” But I was too late. Max shook his entire body in a great flurry, sending soap, water, bubbles, and galactic globs of loose fur all over the bathroom and me.
Cazzo! That’s it! This was war. But ... I was already wrung out and saw that Max was just now getting really determined. I should have brought a porterhouse into the shower stall as a tasty distraction for rinse cycle.
Locked in mortal combat, I coaxed, pushed, pulled, dodged and wove Max back into the shower stall. This time I blocked the shower door with my entire body. I grabbed the shower nozzle and prepared for jungle warfare. I could see Max weighing his options. Would he jump up, feign death, distract me with an expressionist dance move? Finally Max just gave me a withering look and plopped his fat whale’s ass straight down onto my foot. Great, I was trapped. I cha-cha-cha’d around him one legged until I was convinced all traces of soap were gone, then goosed him with the shower nozzle to make sure no soap was left under his tail. Thankfully, this also served to get fat Max off my foot. I finished the rinse cycle, then shut off the water.
I staggered drunkenly from the shower just as Max did his hokey pokey shake. First right feet, then left, then head and whole body. Spiky and spazzed, he looked like he belonged in an 80’s hair band.
Darn. Forgot towels. I was drenched in wet dog smell and swamp ass. Feeling like a soused survivor of a palace coup, I lurched to the linen closet to retrieve towels and decided I was going to make Max eat broccoli for an entire month.
Once I had somewhat recovered from my temporary insanity, I toweled off Max, blew his fur dry on warm, brushed him, then ruffled his fur. The second I opened the bathroom door, Max did his run for glory around the entire apartment. My dog had gone into complete wagging maniac mode. He careened wildly down the hall, went into a full skid narrowly avoiding an end table, bounced on the couch, went airborne and landed on his back. He righted himself, rolled onto his feet and charged into the kitchen where he waited for praise and a dog biscuit.
Still traumatized, I glared at Max. He grinned at me like a complete fool. I couldn’t help but give him a good-boy scratch, a quick hug, and the expected doggie treat.
I was finally able to take my own shower and fall into bed. Max snuggled beside me, head on his pillow, flat on his back, paws in the air. He gave a soft woof which was his way of asking for a bedtime story. “Not now, Max. Too tired.” Max turned onto his side then SHOVED me with all four paws nearly capsizing me onto the floor. He gave another woof only louder. “Fine. FINE.”
I gave serious thought to writing Danny the Dog guy and telling him I was going to use his stupid training manual as a doorstop. I only reconsidered because I didn’t want to make him feel bad Max was still young and also I hadn’t even tried most of the things Danny the Dog dude had suggested. But I would. I had to. No excuses. Max deserved decent discipline so that he would grow into the best version of himself. It wasn’t his fault I was being a non-confrontational wuss about his training. Some Italian I was. Jeez, no wonder Max always got his way.
With smug contentment, Max waited for me to offer up a few titles.
“Tramp Caught Having Intimate Spaghetti Dinner with Poodle?” Nothing, no nod, no woof, just a stare. “Lassie Shoves Timmy In A Well?” Still no. “Scooby Doo Eats Shaggy’s Stash? Muttley vs. Snoopy vs. Underdog Tag Team Smackdown Extravaganza?” Sigh. I knew what he was waiting for. Rotten dog. “Prince Max?” I asked, and got a happy lick on my nose just before Max turned onto his back again and snuggled deeply into his pillow and covers. I turned onto my side and patted his newly washed fur.
“Once upon a time there was a very handsome dog named Prince Max. He lived in a big Irish castle that served a lot of beer and made people really happy. Because he loved his family, friends, and town, he always wanted things to go true and right, so one day he decided to become a town sheriff. He took his duties and responsibilities very seriously and only ever bit the truly awful bad guys.
“The prince’s very best friend was Lester the lisping lizard who had a Not Nice Cousin named Gert the girly gecko. Gert was always making Lester say things like, “Sister Susie sews the saucy soft shirts for soldiers” or “Sophisticated sausages doing photosynthesis” which made Lester and his lisp very embarrassed. Gert was also a bit of a hussy and was always gallivanting around getting into trouble. These things distressed Lester quite a lot, so one day he asked Max for help. Prince Max was a big, strong, gentle dog with a heart the size of the moon and would do nearly anything for his friend Lester. Since Max was now a badass town sheriff he searched far and wide for that cruel and evil gecko Gert so that he could arrest her for solicitation. But to no avail.
“One day when Prince Max was in college to get his Masters of the Kingdom degree, he met a girl named Princess Buttercup. The Princess had beautiful golden hair (only because she was a Golden Retriever, since in real life I, Sohpie Zinelli, have dark, curly hair) and worked in an Italian restaurant (Try The Veal). Max really liked Buttercup and she liked him back. He enchanted her with his melodious bark, his wonderful yummy kisses and intelligent blue eyes. But Buttercup was an independent sort with a loud Italian family who loved to butt into her life so she tried and tried to resist all of Max’s charms until one day Prince Max said some magic words that sounded an awful lot like “I love you”. And right then and there, Princess Buttercup decided that Prince Max was the only dog for her and she just knew that someday they would get married and live happily ever after.
“Only it turned out that underneath all of Prince Max’s beautiful fur beat the heart of a true commitment-phobe. Like so many dogs of his kind, Max was driven to succeed. He had to get Gert behind bars, not only for his best friend Lester, but for the good of all the land, so he stuck Princess Buttercup on the back burner of life and broke her heart at which time Princess Buttercup swore off men even though she got talked into a stupid dating thing where stupid, lousy, egotistical, short-sighted jerk Jack, er...Prince Max, was going to be.”
Before I could backtrack to finish the story correctly, Max was snoring like a berserk buzz saw and chasing rabbits in his sleep. Which was just as well. Stories with unhappy endings were no fun.
Suddenly my phone signaled that a text had come in. Uncoordinated from fatigue, I unlocked my phone and saw:
Text from JACK:
Bailey told me she wrangled you into coming this weekend.
I was not completely surprised to see a text from Jack. After all, we have been friends for years even though his relationship skills were sadly lacking these days. Weeks even. Since I was a mature woman of thirty, I would not tell him to go stick it. I would be pleasant and behave in an adult manner.
Text from SOHPIE:
The person yu are trying to reach has moved to Zimbabwe.
Text from JACK:
Jeez, Sophie, you spelled you wrong.
Text from SOHPIE:
The person *you* are trying to reach has moved to Zimbabwe.
Text from JACK:
So, how’s it going?
Text from SOHPIE:
Fine. Just washed my dad.
Text from JACK:
What? Why? Jeez, did he have a stroke?
Text from SOHPIE:
No, he likes it. I bathe him every month whether he needs it or not.
Text from JACK:
Why doesn’t your mom do that?
Text from SOHPIE:
I think maybe she’s a little bit scared of him. He’s bigger than she is.
Text from JACK:
Scared?
Text from SOHPIE:
He’s a big hairy beast. And has big teeth.
Text from JACK:
???
Text from SOHPIE:
Dog. I mean DOG. My dog, Max. Darn you auto erection! Oh jeez, damsel to helm!!
Text from JACK:
Wow, that’s a lot of non-cursing cursing. Did you do your questions for the weekend dating thing?
Text from SOHPIE:
Not yet. Might need alcohol. You?
Text from JACK:
Nay, lass. But I’m absolutely sure I’ll need alcohol. Probably I should wait until after work.
Text from SOHPIE:
Late night for you then?
Text from JACK:
To be sure. Am busy sheriff in town of crime and mayhem.
Text from SOHPIE:
::Rolls eyes:: The last time you had to arrest someone was last year when Old Man Mahoney flashed a grocery store clerk because he went off his meds.
Text from JACK:
In any case, I know it’s hot out, but don’t forget to bring your boobs.
Text from SOHPIE:
Um, sure. I’ll just toss them in my purse. You sure you haven’t been hitting the sauce?
Text from JACK:
Of course not. I’m at work. Oh! Boots! I meant boots!
Stupid auto crustacean!
Text from SOPHIE:
Not wearing boots. Would die from heat. Gah, just milk me now.
Text from JACK:
Happy to, come on over. Have you, um, changed drastically in the last few weeks?
Text from SOHPIE:
Kill! Not milk! Jeez!
Text from JACK
I suggest boots only because Old Mrs. Conner got bit by a black window spider last week. Window. No, no, wait. I meant window. Ugh window. Dammit, window! (%&^*#>*$&#(@#)_)%* window. Are you kidding me?
Ducking auto turducken
Auto cart socks
Text from Sophie
Have *I* changed? Well you wouldn’t know, would you? No texts, calls or visits. You are baboon balls, O’Donlan. Good night.
I opened the notepad app on my phone to input questions for dating thing since there was no way I could manage a pen and paper. I decided it felt too much like homework, so I set my alarm and fell asleep.
#ICouldHavePaintedMyBedroom
#StupidLizardChasingSheriff
#IfHeOnlyKnew