Tales of Ella the Circus Dog
2006-04-02 2:31 PM
Poodle's Bath.
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I know that Poodle’s bath is coming because the People are cutting her coat. I hate that. I love Poodle’s coat, love to take it in my mouth and get it good and wet, love to pull her little soft white hairs through my teeth. She doesn’t mind. She lies still for it. It puts me in a trance. I flop down beside her and grab some hair behind her neck, and she lets me. I can lose myself in it.
But the People are calling Poodle Filthy Little Dog, and today’s the day. The People trim and snip and snap for a long time. I fall asleep waiting for it to be over. Poor Poodle. After hours of trimming, the People scoop her up and head for our bathtub in the kitchen. I smell the soap. I come downstairs to watch, but I don’t get so close that the People see me. I can hear Poodle making pig noises. I must ask her later what she means by these.
In between Poodle’s shakes, the People use two towels to dry her off. When she’s been freed, she scrambles across the kitchen floor and up the stairs to get away. But then she bows to me and shows her teeth to let me know she loved every minute because none of it included me.
Poodle must die.
I’ll take care of it later.
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