A comedian once quipped that if aliens landed on Earth, they would quickly assume dogs were in charge since their humans were following them, picking up their poop in plastic bags.
It’s funny because it’s true.
I’m just glad aliens weren’t around to see me giving Rory a bath today…and not just because I was naked. (It makes cleanup easier, believe me.)
Rory knows the word “bath,” and is very agreeable about getting into the tub. He stands there quietly while I wash him — the whole process is easy peasy.
It’s the blow dry that makes me laugh.
Here again, Rory is game to have his haired dried. I give him a rawhide bone to keep him occupied, and he pretty much ignores me while I dry and fluff and brush. I’m like a stylist at a salon whose client won’t chat with her. The only time Rory even looks back at me is when I start trying to dry his ears or feet, which irritates him.
At that point, he loses interest and walks away…as if to say, “Enough, peasant.”
Yep. I know who’s in charge.