It never fails

My dog Gabe often starts smelling pretty ripe between baths.  I used to put off  bathing him as long as possible because he's too big to put in my rather small kitchen sink and I can't get down on my knees to bathe him in the bathtub.  So I'd bend over to shampoo him while he struggled, which wore us both out.  

A while back a former neighbor of mine listed an ad on Facebook for a used dog-washing station, and we bought it.  When we got it home we had to modify it somewhat so that it drained out in the bathtub; it really helped me:  I can get him lathered up and then rinsed in under five minutes.  He behaves better, too, with no struggling to get away.  Between baths, we keep the dog-washer in the back porch.

Yesterday was bath day for Gabe.  Later  on I took him for a little walk in the pasture.  I would have leashed him, but I walk so slowly, and I like him to get a chance to run around and sniff at things.  I  watch him closely though, to make sure he doesn't roll in any dead animal remains... if he's ever going to to that, it's usually right after a bath, but it didn't happen yesterday.  He did go through a few weedy  places and got stick-tights in his eyebrows and beard, but I combed them out easily when we were done.

He stays close to home these days, so when he needs to go out to check his mail, I let him go; he soon comes back, and barks at the door to let me know he's ready to come in.  I was fixing to go to bed last night, so I sent him out for his last chance to empty his tank.  I sat on the couch waiting... and waiting and waiting and waiting.  When it's dark and he takes a lot of time coming back, I always imagine coyotes stealing him away, although you never see or hear them anywhere near the house.  I called several times.  Normally he comes when I call, but not last night.  I decided to go on to bed to worry, and have Cliff let him in when he barked, but Cliff took pity on me, whistled and called him, and wouldn't you know, Gabe came when he heard the Master.  Why?  Because he knows who feeds him people food, that's why!

I came back to the living room; Gabe got a long drink of water and then started rubbing his beard on rugs or blankets or against the couch, ON the couch, and then I knew he had been up to no good.  He'd found something to eat, something sticky or clingy, and wanted it out of his beard. This wasn't my first rodeo.  Very cautiously I subdued him, bent down, and smelled his beard.  It was cooking oil from our grandson's fish-fry Sunday!   I texted the grandson and asked where he put the used oil; "I poured it out in the pasture," he said.

"Well," I told him, "Gabe found it."

I got a washcloth all soapy and worked on his beard, but he spent the rest of the time licking his feet.  I was afraid he might get sick from it, but he was ready for his breakfast as usual this morning.  Now he's licking his feet again, laying on the furnace register.

This morning he doesn't even look like he's ashamed of himself.  I'll be leashing him when he wants out, for a while.  It looks to me like he still has grease in his beard.