Tag Archives: bathtime

After the Bath: Chicki’s Revenge….

12 Sep
Turning the other cheek....

Turning the other cheek….

I always wanted coloured legs, and now I've got them.....

I always wanted coloured legs, and now I’ve got them…..

Like many canines, Chicki’s list of preferred activities does not include the bath-time ritual , though admittedly she does get some mileage out of the chase that usually precedes it.  Outsmarting Mummy is great fun: or so she seems to be thinking….

Inevitably, though, the procedure goes ahead, and at length she emerges:  clean, white, and sweet-smelling.

She is , however, becoming increasingly reluctant to admit defeat, and lately she has found an answer, as these photos clearly show….

How dare she do this to me....

How dare she do this to me….

The Battle of the Bath

17 Oct

Chicki in the shower

I wonder how many of us have experienced a collision between their elbow and their knee-cap.

My guess is: not many.

So, it is with some alacrity that I report that I, Margaret Sharp, have managed it. And yes, it hurts.

You may wonder how this all came about.

The answer is: Chicki!

Adorable though she is, Chicki’s  fun-loving streak can produce all manner of outcomes.

She has a penchant for turning every activity into a game: or, more correctly, a battle of wits. A battle that she is more than capable of winning!

Today’s episode involved the perennial favourite: bath time. With admirable acuteness, my quick glimpse at her bath towel, and sly positioning of dog shampoo, gave her all the clues she needed. Instantly she summed up the agenda.

And so began the great puppy chase: round and round the house she tore at breakneck speed, pausing now and then to give me hope: then flashing away again. It was during one of these hopeful moments that I made a fateful plan.

Seeing her darting towards me, I bent down in the doorway, hoping to snatch her as she sped past. I should have known better. The only result was the aforementioned contact between my bones as she tore through.

Yes, she won that battle, but she didn’t win the war, for, as usual, I cornered her and snatched her up, and delivered her to the bath.

Once there, her innate desire to please reasserted itself, and once again, she became herself: a model pet.

That is, until her bath-time exuberance re-asserted itself, and, still dripping, she sped again around the house: with myself , towel in hand,  in hot pursuit!

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