Today I washed the dog. This may not seem a momentous activity to you, but it took careful planning and execution. First, I had to entice the cat out onto the deck. The dog washing shower is in her territory and since the dog hates the cat and can’t be in the same room, the cat had to be separated. I locked her out there. Sorry, Molly. It’s not that cold! Then I changed my clothes and set out three towels. I let the water run in the shower until it was warm and then fetched the dog. I put the collar and lead on the dog. She followed me up the stairs through the cat’s territory and into the bathroom. I shut the bathroom door. By now, she knows it’s shower time and all four feet are stiff with protest. Luckily she is twenty pounds and I can pick her up. Into the shower. She stood under the hand held spray, sending me glum looks from the sides of her eyes and enduring. I set the shower head down and it spurted water onto the bathroom floor. I ignored it. It’s tile. I assume I’m going to have to mop the floor. She endured the soap and the subsequent scrubbing with only strong looks of disgust. When I started working on her head and ears she trembled. That’s dogspeak for Poor me, I’m being tortured. Stop. I rinsed her, shut off the water, grabbed a towel and sopped up water from her coat. Then I let her go to shake water all over the bathroom. Then toweled her again and again with periodic pauses for her forays into the across the bathroom floor and rigorous shaking. Then back down the stairs and rewarded with a chew toy. I climbed back up to entice the cat in–who now wanted to stay outside–clean the bathroom and change my clothes. Those dog groomers earn their money.