Sunday, June 12, 2005

"Hey Gus! You want to take a bath?"

I called jokingly as I scrubbed the bathtub. It's amazing how quickly my busy life wheedled down to scrubbing bathtubs and harassing the dog for a good time since school let out. I heard a frantic scramble as paws struck carpet, ID tags jangled wildly, and nails churned into the carpet as Gus made a mad scramble away from me, the one who dared use the word "bath" in his presence.

"Gus! Just kidding, Gus! Come back!" I cajoled across the house. This dog has serious emotional issues with baths. He's very anti-cleanliness in general, but particularly regarding baths. The house rang with silence. The little stinker was serious about not having a bath today. I sighed and rose from my scrubbing to go find my emotionally wounded beagle. Walking from room to room, I found no evidence of an anxious beagle stressing over the prospect of getting clean. I looked behind chairs, under pillows, no Gus. And then I spotted his nose sticking ever-so-slightly from beneath my bed. He was on guard. And very serious.

This was not a joking situation. I talked sweetly to him, explaining the concept of a little joke. (Words wasted on a beagle, all he knows is that he distinctly heard me say "bath" while I was in the room of the bathing. Enough said.) There was no convincing Gus to come out, so I just left him there and finished cleaning up the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, there was still no sign of Gus, so I checked on his again, tried some more gentle coaxing. Nope. Not coming out. Right now? He's still there:

Poor Gus. So emotionally abused.

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