Bath Time

I’m out of breath from chasing Tie up the stairs to the front door twice. When I got my coat and purse and said, “Come on, let’s go!” the first time, he trotted quickly down the steps, greeted a passing walker, ran over to say hi to our neighbor and was very happy to be going with me.

I opened the back of my car and called him to get in, but he wouldn’t come. He went slinking up to the front porch. He must think we’re going somewhere that’s not his idea of fun.

I went up the stairs, held him by the collar and walked him back down to the car. He seemed to be cooperating, so when we came around to the rear of the car, I let go of his collar and told him to jump in. Instead of hopping up, he ran around the other side of the car and headed back up the steps.

I followed him again, calling him sternly by his full name, “Tie Siding!” He kept going, looking back guiltily. I found him lying on the stoop, looking up at me with his head down.

“Ok, go in the house,” I said, knowing that giving in wasn’t good dog discipline, and thankful that he’s a retriever and not a husky. How did he know I was taking him for a bath? I think I might have mentioned it on a phone call I just finished.

He really does understand what we say.

He’s always good for his bath. He walks into the elevated tub at the pet food store, stands still while I lather him up, and usually waits to shake his whole body until I’m done rinsing him.

He tries to huddle as far into the corner of the tub as he can, forcing me to lean way over the tub wall, getting my arms and torso wet in the process–clear body language that he’d rather be somewhere else. He will never accept a treat from the employees at the store; he doesn’t want me to think he can be bribed that easily.

I see the uncomfortable-but-patient look in his sweet brown eyes at bath time, and know that he doesn’t love it, but I didn’t think the feeling went deep enough to cause him to turn down a trip in the car. Now, his bath has to wait until another day. Next time I won’t say anything out loud about where we’re going, and I won’t trust him to go to the car off leash.

Having this big puppy around can be annoying, but he’s so loving it’s hard to be mad at him.

Lately, as soon as I start turning out the lights and getting ready for bed, he goes and lays down on the rug beside my bed. Other than some whimpering during doggie dreams and some readjusting, he sleeps peacefully in our room.  I like his presence there. It feels safe.

Before this pattern started, he was a bit of a wanderer in the night, waking us up by walking around the house. We tried settling him down in our room, but he wanted to be in and out, so we closed our door and left him in the living room to muffle his nighttime walkabouts.

In August and September, my strong, healthy husband ended up in the hospital twice for a total of 11 days. His illness was a roadblock thrown up in our lives, stopping everything. Meetings and trips were cancelled, plans changed. Deadlines were missed or delayed.

We lived those days in uncertainty, waiting for answers, hoping for healing. I came home emotionally weary at night after spending the day with him in the hospital, unsure of what to expect the next day.  That’s when Tie started coming in and sleeping by me.

He really does understand.

I don’t know if he overheard me talking to the kids, or if he just read my body language, but as surely as he knew that bath time was coming today, he must have known then that I needed comforting, and he stayed close.