I can't remember the last time Emmy Lou had a bath. She hates baths like I hate the "musical" oeuvre of Fergie. I usually give her a sluicing on our balcony, where there's a drain and few witnesses. Because I am lazy and because it's been cold and because she is a fuss pot who keeps clean like a cat, she's gone bathless for quite some time. But the corn chip smell of the dog became pretty overpowering recently, plus she's been shedding like crazy, so we decided we would try something new. A self-serve dog grooming place. Which I suspected was run by lesbians. Woooo!
In preparation for The Bath, Katr and I thought it would be good to make sure Emmy had an exceptionally long walk to tire her out. Katr had a client meeting near a good off-leash park, so we decided to drive over together, play in the park/have the meeting and then meet up after for grooming and errands.
The park, like all the parks here in rainy, rainy Vancouver, was a total swamp. But Emmy is unstoppable once she locates fowl to hassle and this park is cute duck paradise. So Emmy joyously chased the ducks and sniffed things while I attempted to locate some high ground before the mud sucked my shoes right off. And it was while I was descending one slope on my way to a higher one that I felt the ground move. And then I felt my ass hit the ground. And then I slid down the muddy hill on my ass and bumped into my dog.
Me: Uhnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!!
Emmy: What's up, fattie?
I would like to point out that last week I saw some guy take a spill and I went over to see if he was okay. I was maybe 10 feet away from three people in the park who all had the pleasure of seeing me wipe the fuck out and no one so much as offered me a Kleenex. That's fine - I wasn't hurt and what were they going to DO anyway? - but I want you three to know that you make the Baby Jesus cry.
I struggled out of the mud and assessed the damage. It seemed that my jacket had taken the brunt of the mud and really only one of my pants legs were wet. I squelched over to a grove of rain-wet cedars and used their branches to scrape some of the mud off my hands while I considered my next move. Katr would probably still be in her meeting for an hour; maybe I would stand around and wait for my leg to dry for awhile, then Emmy and I could go sit in the car! Because I had the spare keys! Ha ha!
Pleased with my plan, I realized I'd lost track of the pooch. I finally located her rooting around in the underbrush at the bottom of another little hill. Mindful of my previous wipe out, I made my way cautiously towards her, inching carefully down the hill. Then I slipped on the mud and fell on my ass.
Me: Uhnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!! Fuck fuck!! Uhnnnnnnn!!!
Emmy (to other dogs): We're not here together.
This time my coat hiked up to my waist so that the muddy water I was sitting in had full access to my private areas. It wasted no time getting intimate with my nethers. Then it started to rain.
The "sitting in the car for 45 minutes or longer" plan seemed less good now, in light of my sopping wet, muddy lower half. And the dog was starting to remember how she never actually gets her mouth on a duck. But I didn't want Katr to have to leave her client meeting. So the dog and I walked the 45 minutes home, dripping mud and meeting the stares of passer-by with a glare that said "Yes?? Can I help you, FUCKO?" It's hard to walk belligerently in wet pants - hard, but not impossible.
I was determined that my slip-nanigans wouldn't put an end to our dog-bathing scheme, so once I'd showered and changed, Katr came home to pick us up and we were off to the dog-grooming place. Emmy Lou was excited to be back in the car - I was excited for her to not smell of gym socks. Things were lookin' good as we walked into the shop full of clean, happy dogs.
As it was our first time there, and because, frankly, I was on the verge of losing my shit completely, I was kind of hoping that the dog-grooming place would be run by nice, helpful lesbians, like at our vet's office. Lesbians who would take care of us. Instead, they were "here's the hose, good luck with that" lesbians whose lack of helpfulness was astounding in the face of Emmy Lou screaming like the Wicked Witch of the West and scrabbling desperately to get out of the tub every two seconds while I held her down and lathered her up. I spent as much time prying her little paws off the edge of the tub as I did actually washing her.
Me, like I'm talking to a toddler: Emmy, if you jump out of the tub with the cord around your neck you could hang yourself.
Unhelpful lesbian (as I drench my shirt holding the dog down with my whole upper body): Oh, did I not show you where the aprons are?
Emmy: OMFG!! Why are you DOING this to MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE?? AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!! It BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURNS!!!
Unhelpful lesbian: You should use a LOT more shampoo.
So basically, I paid $20 to torture my dog for half an hour when I can do it at home in half the time for free. Needless to say, we will not be returning to the dog-grooming place. Unless Emmy gets some Ativan and they get one of these.
