Millie goes through three different phases at bath time. Resistance, acceptance, and finally, freak-out mode. And I don’t think she’s alone in this. Abbey did it too, though not to the same degree. Millie is all about extremes.
This dog would give her first born pup (we haven’t told her yet that she’s been spayed) to get into the bathroom on a normal day and rummage through the trash can. But when we actually try to coax her in, she knows something is up. So we drag her in by her collar, and heave her into the bathwater.
She laps up the water until it gets too soapy, and then turns black – she’s a pretty dirty girl. She seems to midly enjoy this part of the process, because it involves a lot of scratching and rubbing and general attention.
When we’re done, we try to dry her as much as possible before she shakes all over our newly painted bathroom. As we’re toweling her off, you can see her body beginning to tense. It’s like something is boiling below the surface, and the steam is building and waiting to erupt.
Once we’ve gotten her as dry as we can, we open the bathroom door and let go. She bursts through the doorway like a volcano or a bullet, and runs wild around the house. On the couch. Off the couch. Into the kitchen. Out of the kitchen. She occasionally stops to bark and shake and see if we’re watching. Then she runs again. Her wet paws slide on the hardwood floors and she crashes into walls and furniture. I should probably scold her, but I’m too busy laughing.
She does this EVERY time.
What if humans had the same ritual? I can imagine every morning getting out of the shower, drying off and putting on a robe, then throwing open the door and just running through the house screeching. On the couch. Off the couch. In the kitchen. Out of the kitchen. Every morning.
Millie seems to have a good time. Maybe I’ll try it just once.