The Sunday Bath

The Vignette Gazette Edition #203

Joey (image by author)

Woof woof, it’s Sunday again, dreadful Sunday.

Big sis is going to walk out of her room with dishevelled hair, calling for me.

Joey, “It’s bath day, doggo.”

Oh! How I wish weeks could be without Sundays. My family doesn’t care about my mood or my phobia of water and insists on a weekly bath.

I wonder sometimes if nobody told them, “Dogs do not need to take a bath every week.”

In fact, my species has the power of licking, and we can maintain our hygiene. Unlike humans!!!!

Oh! I hope mom has not heard her or has suddenly had an attack of dementia, which has made her forget the existence of a Sunday, “i.e., ‘Bath Day’”

Bad luck! Mom has heard her loud and clear. She is getting ready, fetching my towel and shampoo. “That stool is for her convenience- not mine.”

I dart towards the settee, my sole hideout, ever since I was a puppy.

Then the pestering starts, “Joey, come on, let’s go, I’m going in the car”

“The jingling of keys-but am I a fool to believe you?”

“Not happening this time”

“The least they can do is give me a treat.”

“After all, I am sacrificing my precious stinkiness and muddy paws”

But dogs will be dogs and will melt away at the sight of a biscuit.

I am at the slaughterhouse, about to be given the obnoxious bath. I start to shiver, but it doesn’t dissuade my mom.

“The water on my body feels like 10 bullets through my skull.”

Yet I stand there timidly till the bath is over, “the minutes seem like millions of hours.”

Ah! “The ordeal is finally over”

“But woof! There will be more horror-filled Sundays.”

[embed]Animal House Vignette #51 | bath Saturday, July 4medium.com

RMW