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Dang, can’t a girl get some privacy, Gheez. 

I was sitting on the toilet and as usual, Coltrane barged in the bathroom. he barged in like he had to talk to me about something. But he's a dog, so he can't talk. Instead, Coltrane sat between the tub and the sink and started staring at me. I’m sitting on the toilet, trying my best to avoid eye contact but he keeps staring at me. He watches me, so I watch him back. Our stare off goes on for about another 30 seconds until I’d finally peaked and asked, "What do you want dog?" 

He motioned his head upwards, which meant he wanted me to pet him. Why he'd chosen that particular moment to decide to be affectionate is beyond my reasoning. But I didn't have anything else to do, and it wasn't like I was going anywhere for a while, so I obliged. I stroked his head and scratch behind his ear. His fur felt icky. I smelled my fingers and they smelled a little funky, like unshaved armpits that had been playing sports all day under the hot sun.  

"Dog, you stink," I said to him, half expecting Coltrane to respond back.   

Instead, he looks at me and started panting through this wide mouth grin, which makes it look like he’s laughing at me. Oh, he thinks it’s funny.

“Go Away Coltrane, I’m serious,” I yell.

He moves to the bathroom door but just before he walks out, he turns to give me the biggest, doughiest, orphan dog, sad eyes I have ever seen. Now he’s playing on my emotions. Still bored and sitting on the toilet, I called him back and proceeded to scratch him some more, hoping that he would stop looking at me that way. As I scratched behind his ear, he wiggled his leg, which let me know that it was feeling good. When I reached a spot around his neck, he wiggled his leg harder. Maybe it was feeling a little too good. Then I felt it. A tiny little ball rolled against my index finger. I located the spot on his neck, dug into his fur and picked it off.  It was a flea. Heavy sigh. I shooed him away again and finished my business. Eight o'clock on a Wednesday night (a work night at that), I had decided that I needed to wash the dog.
Now washing the dog probably doesn’t sound like much of a chore to most folks. However, in my case, I’m dealing with a 110 pound American Bulldog and I don't have a garden hose. So washing him outside in the yard like normal folks wasn't an option. That meant that I have to wash him in the tub, which means I have wash the tub, which means I have to clean the bathroom, which means I have to mop up the wet dog paw prints in the hallway, which means I have to do the dishes...I think you get my drift.

Actually, in a normal circumstance, doing the dishes is not mandatory when washing a dog. But again, my life is not necessarily normal and for me, cleaning is like being inside of matrix, everything is connected and there are always anomalies. For instance, let’s say I’m cleaning the bathroom and I find a single dirty sock hanging somewhere over my bathtub’s edge, I would have to go to put that sock in the dirty clothes hamper, which is located in my bedroom, which now means I have to straighten that up because it doesn't make sense to put one dirty sock in the hamper, while there are a bunch of dirty socks scattered around the room. And while I’m picking up socks, I come across the dirty glass from the orange juice I had the other night, somewhere under my bed (where I keep all my dishes), so of course, I would want to take that down stairs (because I’m am now cleaning my room) and place it in its proper place in the kitchen but I can't because the sink is full of dishes.  Now I’m deep inside the cleaning matrix and wondering how the hell did I end up taking that blue pill.

Part of me just wanted to spray some Febreeze on him, douse him with that flea control stuff and kept it moving. But I had been so moved by the dog grooming gods, who summoned me from my toilet seat just to remind me that Coltrane was way overdue for a bath and unless I planned on spending $60 at the real groomers, than I better get to it. And considering that this is a recession, spending unnecessary dollars didn’t make too much sense or cents, you feel me?

So there I am, standing inside bathroom, trying my hardest to get the dog from point A, which is the floor, to point B, which is inside the tub. First I tried pulling him in, then I tried standing inside the tub and summoning him with a few “come on boys but neither of those options worked very well.  The tub, which is one of those old-school models that are positioned on four legs, was just too high off the ground for him to climb or be pulled in. I even tried to hoisting him up, over and in but I damn near pull a muscle in my back. Did I mention that the Coltrane weighs 110 pounds?  Now I’m sweating through my shirt and I haven’t even started yet.  Oh dog grooming gods, why have you forsaken me?  

After five minutes of plotting my strategy, trying and failing, the heavens finally opened up and the dog grooming gods shine their wisdoms upon me. It came to me like a voice from beyond: "Put a dog biscuit inside of the tub and push the dog in, dumbass" I'm pretty sure I heard trumpets.  That makes sense, thank you dog grooming gods.  I got out of the tub and did as instructed. And after several pushes, the dog fell over the edge, into the tub. Score one for ingenuity. 

Now that I got the dog in the tub, I can get to work.  I start wetting him down with the detachable shower head. Coltrane, who thought that he was just going to get a dog biscuit, was a little bit confused as to what was going on. I tried to reassure him that it was ok but the water was touching him in areas, which was usually reserved for his tongue.  I bet in his mind he was saying "no, that's a bad touch."  

I patted him on the head, “Awe Coltrane, it’s alright. We only got one more step to go and….” 

Then it dawned on me: I don't have any dog shampoo.  Dammit, dammit to dog hell. The only thing close to dog shampoo that I had around the house was a bottle of Dr. Bronner Magic Peppermint Castile Soap, which would be a great alternative, if only it was in the bathroom.  And If I left my post, Coltrane would surely use this opportunity to climb out of the tub and wreak havoc all throughout the house. And that's exactly what happened. 

 Despite my desperate pleas to 'be a good boy until mommy got back with the soap" and bribes of a dog treat if he behaved, Coltrane, the dog that couldn't find his way into the tub, took two seconds to get out.  I hadn't even been halfway out the bathroom door before he zipped by me and darted to my bedroom. He stood in the middle the floor, soaking wet and only a foot away from my bed. He had the devil in his eyes. That’s when our second stare off began. 

"You better not do it Coltrane."  

He started that wide mouth half-laughing, half-panting thing again. 

“I’m warning you Dog, you mess up my bed, you’re a dead man…err dog” 

 His head tilted to the side and began to shake. Suddenly I felt just like the hero in those action movies, who only had seconds to get to the bomb before it blow up. I ran towards him but it was too late as the tremble had already reached the tip of his tail. The only thing I could do was stand back and try my best to avoid the water bomb that was coming in my direction. When it was all said and done, my bed, laptop and face were soaked with water and dog fur. Without even an afterthought, Coltrane had zipped past me again, ran down the stairs and repeated the process next to my suede couch.  

It took me three days to official escape out of the cleaning matrix. Not only is Coltrane clean but so is the entire house. So the moral of the story is, don't sit on the toilet bored or the dog grooming gods may spit their devilish charm your way to get you to join the cleaning matrix. Better yet, kick the dog out the bathroom, use the lock and remember to bring a book.
 


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