Not even Spike wants to go for a walk in the downpour this morning. His Outward Hound jacket with rocks in the pocket goes on without a hitch, but I have to give him a little tug before he starts moving toward the rain outside. We're all in rain gear. Bella has a new-to-her yellow raincoat, but when she puts her head down, it slips over her eyes and brings her to a skidding halt. She plants her feet until I pull the hood back away from her eyes and then she carries on, sulking. She puts her head down a few times and trips over the front. I try not to laugh out loud, but it catches me off guard. Really, I don't blame her for not wanting to wear the coat, but I dislike the smell and dirt of wet dog hair and it's cold outdoors. She had the sniffles earlier in the week, so "Bella-baby, it's for YOUR good."
When we get home, both dogs have wet, gritty stomachs and legs. I pick up Bella at the front door and carry her straight to the shower so she can't wipe herself off on our sofas. She's getting better: we have a designated blanket on one couch where she can do a "Wipe." She gives me a poodle-grin of satisfaction when I tell her she's a good girl.
When she's clean, she bounces all around the house, up and down the stairs, leaping through the halls. She's almost dry before we head for the conservatory to blow-dry her the rest of the way. I'm happy that she's cooperative. When she's brushed, she's a mass of fluff, soft and cuddly. She knows she's cute, and parades around me like the Belle of the ball.
Spike is Mr. Easy. His hair is still really short, so a quick shampoo, towel dry, and 3 minutes of scooting around on a towel finishes him in a hurry. He's no longer fussy about my touching his feet, either.
I toss their toys and bedding in the washer and wash out their crates. After they fool around with a few games of tug-of-war, they down a raw half chicken leg in their clean, bare crates. Then it's time for them to settle under my desk for a rest... while I study. Good doggies!