Mission: Bath Time

Giving Gus a bath and taking care of his basic needs ought to be a task that soldiers headed into combat should accomplish before departure as part of their training. Today was the Big Day and Gus and I are no longer on speaking terms. He is currently pouting on a guest room bed and glaring at passersby between bouts of howling.
The dog acts as though I am trying to remove his entire leg when I am clipping his toenails. He bites, he claws, he growls. I barely clip off the ends and I have never once drawn blood. He's a paranoid nutcase.
The bath is actually what put him over the edge. If he were a normal animal, he might let me pour water on him to get his fur wet for the shampoo. Not Gus. Gus races back and forth in the bathtub, dodging the cup and growling. So I am forced to moisten him a with a bit less civility: I grab his legs that are farthest from me and flip him over on his back, where he writhes around in the water until sufficiently wet. Then we suds and rinse in the same fashion. Cleaning his ears isn't too bad, but brushing the teeth is another story. Gus loves anything cotton and spends the entire brushing trying to eat my hand, the cotton ball...anything to make me stop. Then he licks and smacks and glares as though he has been wronged in ways that words cannot describe. He hates to be dried off, preferring to squirrel himself around on the floor or in his bed or anything laden with his previous preferred stench.
So now he is fuming in isolation. Whenever I get within 10 feet of him, he races away at warp speed and tries to cleverly conceal himself behind furniture.
He's now moved on to the stage of the game in which he seems to forget about the bath and he can't figure out how this water got on him. He has his nose under his stomach and is chasing his nether region around in circles while growling at it ferociously. I, on the other hand, must go change clothes, because I am soaking wet and covered in dog hair. Good times were had by all.