When we were kids my mom used to send us into the bathroom every Saturday evening for a bath whether we needed it or not. To make do for the rest of the week we were handed a wash cloth and some soap, "Go wash your face, and make sure you clean your ears and neck." I was a lazy little brat and did a quick wipe around the outer part of my face. Every time, mom would look at me and send me back for more cleaning, "I can see that circle of clean around your filthy face Alan, get back in there."
Yesterday morning I was laying in bed and I picked up an odor wafting across the room. Once again Chandler had farted, or so I thought. I banished him from the room and turned the ceiling fan on high. About thirty minutes later Chandler slinked back into the room and slithered up onto the bed. "Whew Chandler, again?" But he hadn't farted, it was his fur that stunk up the room. Chandler loves to roll around on peoples lawns, rubbing his back into the fragrance that he finds there. So yesterday afternoon it was dog bath time. First up was Bette, who is easy. I put her in the shower with me and we take a shower together. I just have to be careful not to mix up the dog shampoo with the Pantene. Chandler is much too big for the shower. I take him out back and hose him down, and then give him a good scrubbing. When I was all done I had two very sweet smelling hounds who were now fit to be allowed back on the bed. Unfortunately Chandler and Bette do not appreciate cleanliness, do not love the smell of lavender emanating from deep within their furry little selves. First thing they both did when I walked them later in the afternoon, first thing they did when they spotted a big enough expanse of green grass, first thing when they detected the ripeness of dog urine sprayed across a lawn, was to both roll back and forth through it.