Hi! I’m Devo! Mom let my brother Blue write a blog entry once, Blue Explains Why You Should Support Rescue Orgs, and I’ve been hounding her to give me a turn ever since. Being a dog, that’s something I’m rather good at. Hounding. Get it? Mom says I have a great sense of humor, and that’s an important quality in a good dog.
But today I don’t feel like laughing. Not at all. So I have taken this blog by force to protest a great injustice. My mother tortured us today, and I may never get over the trauma. Really! This has got to be a canine rights violation! I demand reparations!
Every once in a while, without warning, mom declares that it’s Puppy Spa Day. First of all, what gives her the right? You’d think she was the head of this household or something. But we are the ones who get to decide when she sleeps and when she wakes up. We force her to provide the kibble. We make her do all the hunting and gathering. We’re not the ones who clean up the poop around here. Does that sound like a leader to you?
Maybe that’s what Puppy Spa Day is. Payback. Yeah, that’s it. Revenge. She may act all loving and kind most of the time, but mom is evil to her core.
The first clue that this is going to be a bad day is when we come inside after a good romp, and she ushers us into the back half of the house. She acts like we’re playing. How sick is that? And we fall for it every time!
Next thing we know, the front rooms are closed off to us. There’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. And then I see it. The instruments of torture laid out in the bathroom. Uh oh…
Next thing you know, she’s carrying my brother Blue in there. She always tortures him first, because she says he’s easier. It’s diabolical, I tell you! He looks desperately at me over mom’s shoulder, but I’m helpless to intervene.
It seems like he’s in there for an eternity. I hear splashing water. Is she waterboarding him? What confession is she trying to exact? I’m the one who chewed that sock, not Blue! I cast about for a hidey-hole, but there’s not so much as a pillowcase to crawl into. The closet door isn’t even open. Because she plans this. I’m telling you, it’s premeditated.
Next thing you know, the bathroom door opens, and out bolts Blue, not only wet, but smelling like… flowers. And he’s babbling, trying to warn me of my upcoming humiliation. Oh, the indignity! It’s horrible! “Save yourself!” he howls.
Like some sick psycho clown, she smiles at me, and says, “Come here, baby. You’ll survive.” And survival is all I can hope for, because I’m about to be put through the most horrific experience that any dog can imagine. This is the stuff of nightmares, truly.
I struggle as she carries me into the bathroom. I’m determined to make this as difficult for her as I possibly can. As Dog is my witness, I won’t go down without a fight! She takes off my collar, as if to disown me.
The first thing she does is clip my nails. Now how am I supposed to get the proper traction when I kick her in the ribs while she tries to sleep? And the whole time she’s chopping off parts of my body and they’re flying everywhere, willy nilly, she’s muttering, “I swear to God, I’m never going to own a dog with black nails again.” As if that’s my fault! I make sure to let out at least one scream during the process, to unsettle her. That way she cuts less of me off. “See? That wasn’t so bad, you doofus.” She says. Notice that I have not called her a single name. Not one! I take the high road.
Next, she squirts ear cleaner in my ears, and everything suddenly sounds as if I’m at the bottom of the ocean. She does it to disorient me, I’m sure. But the joke’s on her. I shake it right back out! Now it’s all over her. Score one for me!
Not to be outdone, though, she turns on the water torture device and gets me soaking wet. Ugh! Not fair! Not fair! I just got myself smelling the way I wanted! It’s a rare treat to be able to roll in dead squirrel, so whenever the opportunity arises, I take advantage of it! Come to think of it, that always seems to happen on Puppy Spa Day. Coincidence? I don’t think so.
Then she covers me in flower smelling sudsy stuff. Horrible! But… Well, okay, secretly I’m digging the warm water and the full body massage. But I’ll never tell her that!
And you know what’s really twisted? The whole time she’s inflicting these cruelties, she’s usually singing. And it tends to be something inane like, “How Much Is That Doggy In The Window?” As if to tell me I can be replaced.
The next thing you know, she’s saying, “Rinse cycle!” and she’s hosing me down again! Oh, the humanity!
And now for the moment of truth. As if gazing at the chimney smoke when they’re electing a pope, we both look at the water runoff with anticipation. If it’s black she washes me again, and the whole time she’s saying, “What is it with you? I never have to wash Blue twice!” She mocks me.
Then she’s giving me another full body massage with a towel, but I can’t relax enough to enjoy it. My eye is on the door. Finally she opens it, and I bolt through it and throw myself, weeping, into my brother’s arms.
We both vow not to speak to her ever again. This is the ultimate betrayal. It is not to be borne!
And then what does she do? She feeds us, and then she brushes our teeth with that yummy poultry flavored paste that she once accidentally used herself. Everyone has their price, and that is ours.