Sunday, March 11, 2012

Operation: Demon Chihuahua Gets a Bath

Most dog owners are all-too familiar with the joy of having to live with the lovable dirt magnet that is canis familiaris. What they may be unfamiliar with is the covert operation I have employ to successfully bathe Maddie, the Demon Chihuahua.

(For those of you who think my I.Q. points automatically plummet because I own a chihuahua, please don't be so quick to judge with stereotypes; having big boobs is already enough for me, thanks.)

How difficult is it to give man's best friend a bath? See, I am under the suspicion that my pooch is in reality a cat that has been reincarnated as a dog, thus fueling her natural aversion to water. In any case, that certainly would explain why she feigns liking me only when it is feeding time. I don't want to jeopardize her already-present disinterest in me, but I have no choice. My dog stinks and I can't take another whiff of her putrid stench any longer.

The process to bathe her is a furtive, well-calculated one, much like an undercover scheme that you would concoct to rob a casino out of millions of dollars. My pay lies in the fact that my olfactory senses will no longer be bombarded from the mustard-gas funk emanating from my precious little military weapons grade pup.

Phase One of my strategy involves placating her with a mountainous offering of Kibbles 'n Bits while making myself appear to be of lowish intelligence by cooing like a pigeon on helium. Clapping like a trained seal may also be an applied method to encourage said target to ingest her food.




I must point out that the baby talk is, of course, a ruse. I mean, it's not like I would ever dream of finding myself addressing something adorable using cripplingly embarrassing terms because I felt like it. Oh, heavens, no.

It is at this point which I execute Phase Two of my operation. While she is distracted eating her yummy-wummy nummy-nums, I sneak away to acquire my weapons of cleanliness for the on-going war against poochie dirtiness.



Unfortunately, as with all plans in life, there is always a possibility that outside forces might foil my operation. That outside force is none other than my grandmother and her uncanny nature of asking questions to which she already knows the answer. She spots me holding the loofah and the Tick-B-Gone and inquires:



No, Grandma. I'm obviously going to bake a chocolate bundt cake from scratch and cover it meticulously with a layer of vanilla fondant and decorate it with pink roses. It is now too late for me because the Demon Chihuahua overheard my grandmother utter that one word of the deed she dreads the most.






Rather than unleashing the furor that is her rancor, the Demon Chihuahua shows mercy upon us because she has a soft spot for my Grandmother.  She spares us and returns to her lair that is conveniently located at a spot where I can't reach her and refuses to come out. Even if I kneel in front of her dark cavern, pleading for her forgiveness, she won't budge.



It is at this point that I being to despair. How am I supposed to bathe her if she won't come out?

Then, it hits me. I need reinforcements. And I know exactly who should be the person with whom I form an alliance! With her years of experience, my grandmother must have a better understanding of how defeat our stinky foe. I recruit my grandmother as my ally and she coaches me in the proper method of winning the battle.

Grandma reveals that, despite her better knowledge, the Demon Chihuahua does have her shortcomings. Her Achilles' heel is "people" food, the very weapon that helped her gain the poochie's trust. In one moment of unguarded weakness, I can coax her with a slice of ham while still applying the same technique of making myself out to be a being of inferior intelligence. It's going to take cunning to outsmart the Demon Chihuahua. Cunning and cold cuts.


I know I have her once her nose wriggles out of the cave in curiosity. Her demise is eminent.


One leg comes forward, then the other to let her crawl out of her dark lair. I can see that she is torn between remaining in her safe shelter and giving in to her stomach. I eventually fish her out, haul her over to the water and bathe her, usually singing a personal rendition of "La Cucaracha" while replacing the lyrics with how great my dog feels.




Again, the singing is only a ruse; it serves as a tactic to soothe. It is not a reflection of what I feel like doing. Oh, heavens, no.


After I have lathered, rinsed and repeated on her fur, I end up feeling quite content at my accomplishment of winning the battle against my dog's grubbiness. However, I hardly get to cherish this clean, rosy moment because my triumph lasts for a millisecond. The instant I release her, the Demon Chihuahua rushes outside to roll around in the dirt, canceling out all of my hard work.

She doesn't do this because she feels too clean. Oh, no. I know she does this with the intention of spiting me. She prances in the room with an evil smile and thinks "that's for believing you could have a Weird Al career with your crappy song, Miss Cucaracha."

And so the war continues.

Barb the French Bean

30 comments:

  1. This is why owning a cat is fantastic. My cat is cleaning himself as I type.

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    1. See, I would probably own a cat if it didn't bombard my allergies. It only makes me wonder why dogs weren't equipped at being as efficiently sanitary as cats. :P

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  2. haha This why I don't have pets at all!

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    1. A smart move on your part. Even goldfish can be messy. :P

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  3. This was hilarious... but was I supposed to feel sorry for the Demon Chihuahua?

    I kinda did.

    I think it was the singing at the end.

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    1. I confess that I am not the best singer in the world. If the Demon Chihuahua evoked pity from you, all I ask is that you don't let your guard down around her!

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  4. Hilarious. Have you thought about having the demon dog excited by a priest?

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    1. If she bursts into flames one more time, then I'll will hire the Father from my local church.

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  5. I have 4 dogs, and one of them is a chihuahua (the wife's, not mine, give me some credit) and I hate bathing them all. Go figure that the chihuahua is the best behaved of them... leading me to believe he's onto something, some grand scheme, and I just don't know it yet...

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    1. Yeah, you'd better be wary about those chihuahuas. You think they are harmless, and yet they somehow reached the point of hobnobbing with the most rich and famous of socialites. Something's up!

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  6. I applaud you on your bravery in giving your dog a bath. I have a fairly small dog (25 lbs. Shiba Inu), but I am terrified to give him a bath.

    We take him to the creepy dog groomer who leaves voice mails along the lines of, "Hello Pogo (<dog's name)! It's me Mr. Diddlesworth! You're overdue for a cleaning. Ruff! Ruff! *violent phone click*."

    Hilarious post! I'm glad I stumbled upon this blog!

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    1. Thanks! Glad to hear that!

      Meanwhile, I think I will have nightmares about Mr. Diddlesworth tonight... o_O

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  7. Oh my lord. I am so glad you left me a comment so I could come check you guys out. LOVE!

    Well, it could be that my goal in life is to have big boobs and a Chihuahua, and so far I only have a dog that's a little big Chihuahua and no boobs, but whatever. Hilarious post.

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    1. As far as Chihuahuas go, my pup is fairly large and sturdy herself. Like, she once nearly weighed tend pounds. I've had to put her on a diet a couple of times.

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  8. If your dog truly believes they are a cat born in a dog's body, perhaps your dog can go on Oprah and ask Oprah to pay for a "species-change operation." If Oprah won't go along with this, you can always bribe her with a slice of ham.

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    1. Or I could go to that cosmetic surgeon that was featured on "South Park," the one that turned Kyle's Dad into a dolphin. :P

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  9. Ah, the joy of chihuahua ownership.

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    1. A true pleasure, if I do say so myself. ^.^

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  10. LMAO This is great!!! I can so relate because I have two little wiener pooches of my own that don't really like bath time...hahaha

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    1. I bet they give each other signals and work as a team to escape from bath time, too! You're outnumbered!

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  11. These drawings were hilarious.

    My roommates' dog runs and hides under my desk when he's about to get a bath. This is funny because he never comes in my room bc he doesn't give a shit about me. Unless he thinks I can save him from a bath.

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    1. Clearly, "hiding under the desk" is a good camouflage tactic for dogs to avoid bath time.

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  12. Heh, reminds me of giving my ferret a bath. He used to try and jump out of the tub (clawing our arms and hands in the process) and after his bath he'd run into the dustiest places possible to try and dry off.

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    1. Dustiest places = towels. The war never ends...

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  13. LMAO this is hilarious. I have a demon border collie pup. She hates baths. And water in general. And people touching her. Well really just humans in general. Especially me... xxxx

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  14. This is a really great post. I'm starting to really like reading your blog.

    www.modernworld4.blogspot.com

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  15. We get around this by not bathing the dog. Ha!

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    1. But then...does that mean you wear gas masks around it? o_O

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Apparently, leaving comments on this blog is a hit-or-miss game of Russian roulette: you are either lucky and can comment away, or you are required to log in when the settings are CLEARLY set to allow trouble-free commenting (sorry 'bout that, folks). If anything, the Facebook page is always a viable option. :) -Barb