Every Dog Has Its Day…But First They Must Have Baths

Posted: November 12, 2010 in butterflies, dogs

Every dog has its day.  And the Furry Prince is no exception.  But before most dogs have their day, they go through elementary hell.  First they have to get clean with themselves, with the people they love and the people they even hate.  A dog’s life is enriched by every roadblock, every ceiling, every angry “No!” teaching him that he’s a dog and that any dream to be anything above that was doggone delusional, wrong, and unapproved by the higher authorities who decided way before he had broken forth from his afterbirth that he would live out his life as a dog.

Most dogs.  But not all dogs.  Some break out immediately on a different plane, born immediately to be demanded to be more than just a dog.  They never have to take baths, they never have to pee in the same spot everytime and they never have to concede to a life heeding to “sit!”, “heel!” and “down!”  They don’t have anything to contend with other than the ever growing demand of needing to be more than a dog, the urge to sniff another dog’s ass, the heat of reproduction and the instinct to generally let their tongue hang out of a satisfied jaw on a sunny day never needing to have to decide on anything more than the decision to obey.

Poor Furry Prince. Nothing but a leash will keep him in place in order to give the smelly darling a bath. Here's my brother helping out.

How some dogs go through life on two hind feet pretending not to be dogs is beyond the realm where Karma lives, a wild place where retribution and mothers do not exist.  And their every triumph a smirch on the face of reason.  But yet these words are heavy with envy and ignorance and so the world continues to turn with this pedigree.  The dogs who need to take baths (like poor Furry Prince above) desist, resist, elope and result in a coerced marriage by leash to the nearest water tap, standing against their will in a suit of bubbles and brushes in the hope that the promise of cuddles and food will materialise.  Oh but how fickle fate is.  In the next few seconds, the gust of all logical returns from a dog’s hard hour in one bath goes in one bad aim and dogs are sent to bed without a romp through the bed covers in Life’s bedroom.

The Furry Prince saves my life everyday. I keep him clean in return. Sometimes my brother helps me with that (as seen in pic)

But who are we to complain?  This life, these fates, the world and other worlds are written in the language and complexity that only higher forces can interpret and as best guide us to an unknowing end with concise and insufficient “sit!”, “heel!” and “down!”.  Did they ever love us?  Were we just playthings? 

The Furry Prince saves my life everyday, but he doesn’t know it.  He was born in a vacuum of hope, a nippy skinny puppy with bad eating habits.  I am trying to save his life in return.  But he’s doing a much better job than me.

  1. Lauri says:

    He’s adorable and I’ll bet he feels SO good after a bath that he doesn’t even hold a grudge!

  2. Lauri says:

    Lol! The little stinker!
    I have one dog who attacks the vacuum cleaner every time I use it. If it weren’t hidden in the closet I think he would chew it to pieces!

    • Yes I can’t let him anywhere near the hairdryer. Even after all the “off!”s and “NO!”s, he just waits till I turn my back and am busy brushing my hair or something then he pounces back on his mortal bath enemy! Die hairdryer die! LOL!

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