My dogs are no longer speaking to me.
Quagmire is full of righteous indignation because I sprung a surprise bath on him the other night. Apparently while I was at work, he took every opportunity to stick his head under Devo’s urine stream and then he rolled on dead things for added fragrance. When I got home, I smelled him before I saw him. He was so proud.
Now he smells all flowery. And he’s a boy. The least I could have done was use Axe shampoo for men. Or, I don’t know, canned gravy or something. But nooooo.
But his outrage pales in comparison to Devo’s. (And I have to confess that if someone did this to me, I’d be rather furious, too.) I took him to the vet. And not just for the Annual Charming of the Entire Staff, either. This time it was so that I could learn how to express his anal glands. The indignity of it all!
To say he was not amused was putting it mildly. But then, neither was I. And I still can’t imagine how I’ll pull off this caper alone with him at home. I suspect that will be fodder for a future blog entry. At a bare minimum, he’s going to have a PTSD flashback whenever I break out the rubber gloves. (My apologies in advance if your habit is to read this blog over breakfast.)
The things you do for your pets. Next time someone in authority says, “This is for your own good,” I’m going to try really hard to cut them a tiny bit of slack.
Now, please excuse me while I go bribe myself back into my dogs’ good graces with Greenies. Yeah. They have their price.
I wrote this post about a week ago, when everything was fine. Then Devo, my best friend, had a sudden, completely unexpected health crisis that caused me to have to make the horrible decision to put him to sleep. Rest in peace, my beloved friend. I’ll miss you.