Last week it was a car wash. This week it's a doggy wash. Our hundred pound German Shepherd was in need of a bath. He smelled like dirty socks, which is never a good thing.
"Woman," my husband called. "Would you be interested in helping me wash this dog?"
Not really. But I agreed to do it.
We went outside. It was my job to hold the beast while the operation took place. I had him on a leash, but at times, it was necessary to hold him by the collar.
My husband sprayed the oversized fur ball down with the garden hose. He sprayed me, too.
"Excuse, me," I said. "Could you try not to soak me?"
He grinned. Then he soaped up the creature. Of course soap got on me.
The dog wriggled and squirmed as he was dowsed in cold water. Then he shook, spraying me with more soap suds and water.
"Schultz!" I hollered.
He shook again.
By the time it was done, I was covered in soap suds, water, and dog hair.
And that's the story of yet another wash for the mama!