Bath Time

October 18, 2011
He hacked as he struggled against the taunt leash

Like the hose was a chop-block

His fur, black with dirt, signified that he needed the bath

He didn’t see it like that

I yanked against his leash, leading to the hose

The leash was frozen

I wrapped the handle through the chain-link

His face was masked with confusion

Slowly but surely I drenched him in the “deadly” water

Green, frothy bubbles covered him like an extra layer of fur

One last rinse until the leash is taken off and he jotted away

He started to work on getting dirty again

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