Bulldogge Bathtime

Is something I would prefer happen a little more frequently at Bulldogge Manor.  But that is easy for me to say, since I am neither the bulldogge being bathed, nor the bulldogge bather.  Sean does have Dorothy trained to walk upstairs and jump into the full tub, but it is still quite a chore:  there’s scrubbing, and shaking, and attacking of the towel, and what is worst, from my point of view, is that there’s a horrible stench of wet dog that hovers like a noxious gas cloud in the bathroom for the rest of the day.  And then multiple towels to be laundered, etc., etc. 

So we decided a few months ago to take Dorothy to get groomed, primarily because we need her nails clipped, and the last two times we tried to get the vet to do it, they just did a halfhearted attempt and then sort of stopped when Dorothy protested.  Now, Dorothy does not LIKE to get her nails clipped, and she is a strong bruiser of a dogge, but my pug, Tulip, was much more anti-nail-clipping than Dorothy.  Dorothy would just prefer that the vet not clip her nails, but she is so good-natured that after a halfhearted protest at the first attempt, she is really okay with it by the second attempt.  But I decided to sign her up for a grooming, thus getting her thoroughly cleaned, her white spots whiter, her brindle spots buffed, her nails clipped, her ears cleaned, and her fangs brushed.  The groomer at the vet’s office had a waiting list, so it took us two months to get an appointment.

But finally! I dropped Dorothy off at the vet’s before work, and Dorothy, strange friendly dog that she is, was more than happy to be left there.  She loves the vet (still)!  She loves the attention of the nurses and front desk folk!  All was good!  And when Sean picked her up in the afternoon, she sparkled, and received a good report.

And most importantly, her talons were no longer vicious rakes, but perky little girlish things.

Pretty Dorothy!

Dirty Dorothy

Reader, I have a confession to make [hangs head].  I have not been bathing Dorothy as much as I ought.  My pug, Tulip, pretty much got monthly baths, until she was very elderly -- since her walks then consisted of toddling down the sidewalk with a handbag, say, instead of romping in the mud and underbrush.

But Dorothy is a rough and tumble gal and gets dirty.  She will wrestle with her friend Josie Beagle on the wet sidewalks of downtown Philly.  She will gladly walk in mud.  In short, she walks around the city and gets Philthy and I don't do much about it.

Dorothy, returning home with a muddy face a few months ago, 

upon which she just received a cursory toweling:

When we were in Maine, and had the luxury of a laundry tub, I did give her a bath with the help of my father.

Here she is feeling very sorry for herself:

And then here she is drying off with the help of the sun and fresh Maine breezes:

And she was clean for a while.  And that was nice.  But the time for her next bath came and went and still I did nothing, except wring my hands a bit and wear more perfume up by my nose.

And who knows how long that would have continued, except that a week or so ago I was told by Sean that Dorothy was, well, stinky.  So I did what comes naturally to me and threw money at the problem, even though I don't have money to throw, and made Dorothy an appointment at the groomers.

Sean tried to make Dorothy nervous by telling her that all her brindle bits would get washed off and she would end up a small white poodle.

But I don't want to be a poodle:

But today at 2:00 I brought her down the street to Doggie Style, and she happily trotted off with the groomer, without giving me even one glance.  I got a call at 3:30 that she was ready to be picked up, and she emerged from the back room all sparkly and gleaming!  I had forgotten how white her whites could be!  Her nails were clipped, her ears cleaned, her teeth brushed, and her fur was very soft and sweet-smelling.  And the best part, according to Dorothy, was that while I was paying at the cash register, the shop assistants gave her several treats from a treat bag!  Bliss!  This pleased her so much that I had to pull her across the slippery floor towards the door, her clean legs scrabbling futilely for purchase as she struggled to remain united with the shop girls and the cookies.

Now doesn't she look beautiful?

Too bad the screen is not scratch -n- sniff.

Olde English Bulldogge Bathtime: A Wettinge, A Dryinge, and A Zoomie Afterwards

First you taketh a washe-cloth, and proceedeth to gather ye squirming Bulldogge and place her in a half-filled basin or wash-Tubbe.

But enough of that!  Dorothy had her first bath in my abode and it was rather long overdue.  The girl was ripe.  I think I will now add Dog Grooming to my long list of professions at which  I would not succeed.  There’s a reason why there isn’t “A Sudsing” in the title above. 

I put Dorothy in about eight inches of toasty warm water in the tub.  She was pretty sure I had done so by mistake, so she considerately jumped right out, drenching me in the toasty water, and spreading at least one of its inch-age onto the bathroom floor.  I put her back in the tub.  Again, she was sure I hadn’t meant to do so, oh pardon me, and quickly and politely tried to jump out.  Did I mention that bulldogges, not unlike Bon Jovi fans, are slippery when wet?  They are.  More warm water on me; more warm water on the floor.

By this time I was struggling to open the Johnson’s baby shampoo, which had a top secured with a little foil circle that could not be punctured by a fingernail.  I decided I needed to reach back to the medicine chest to get the tweezers, while simultaneously trying to keep Dorothy firmly planted on the tub’s watery floor.  And all together now:  she jumped out!  Yes, indeedy, she did.

And back in the tub she went.  At this point, she began to realize that the whole Dogge In Tubbe thing was intentional and not a silly error on my part.  So she trembled.  I lathered.  Or tried to, but Bulldogge bristles don’t seem to encourage a very enthusiastic lathering.  Nor do trembling baby bulldogges.  I quickly sudsed her back a bit and got her tummy and her chest and her hind flanks.  I then cleaned her pretty face and massive head with a washcloth, and began to drain the tub and rinse her with fresh water, only to realize I had forgotten to clean her privates and her four sponge paws.  Oh curses.  Oh lazy me.

But the Drying had already begun, and unlike the Wetting, Dorothy really liked this part!  This was fun!  She was placed on a bath mat and rubbed with several dry towels, which she had to help kill a bit with her sharp mandibles and patented neck-breaking shake.  Once she was no longer dripping, I opened the bathroom door and the Zoomies began!  It turns out that post-bath zoomies are not just a pug thing:  Dorothy ran all throughout my apartment, up the hall, down the hall, sometimes chasing one cat, sometimes chasing the other.  She then began Zoomies:  The Sequel, and started to incorporate all upholstered furniture into her zoom.  Up on the chair, down to the floor, up to the couch, down the hall, up on the bed, over to the bedroom chair, etc. etc.

Dorothy zoomed herself dry, while I tried to mop up the swamp in the bathroom and launder the dog-scented towels.  I wouldn’t say Dorothy is as clean as she was when I got her.  She is not spick n span.  Not all of her body made it out of the bath sweet-smelling.  But her overall aura now is definitely more baby shampoo than rotten patch in park.  And that is something.

My camera ran out of batteries in the middle of the Wettinge, so I shall just put a random picture here from Dorothy’s past.  How about Baby Dorothy sleeping with her Aunt Suzie (pic by Jess Seiders):