One Time When Leo Was Good

Boy, are people in my life ever ganging up on Leo since I wrote the post about him wanting to be good! Jenn says, "I didn't ever get the feeling that he really, really wanted to be good. It was more fun to be bad from what I could see. I think he had a certain smirk while appearing to be so contrite. You know - the 'butter couldn't melt in my mouth' expression. On the side of his face which was facing you." My daughter Liz says, "If I had to explain the meaning of incorrigible to someone, I would introduce them to Leo."

I feel like I need to defend Leo a bit here. He really was good at least once.

First, some background for the story: Rosie and Leo had baths about every week with special shampoo to help my dog allergies. They were not fond of baths, probably because this removed all of the great smells they had so painstakingly gotten onto their fur all week. Rosie would resist the bath by making me drag her into the bathroom. This was accomplished without too much difficulty. Once at the edge of the tub, she resigned herself to a miserable fate and allowed me to help her in.

Leo, on the other hand, would willingly trot into the bathroom, and then go completely limp on the rug. If you're wondering what it's like to lift 60 pounds of completely limp dog into a bathtub, try it with 60 pounds of cooked spaghetti. 

By completely relaxing his muscles, every part of Leo's body would get contact with the floor except for his right ear, which was held up by cartilage. 

This operation generated a lot of business for my chiropractor.

Anyway, on to the story. Leo had a enormous amount of energy that was going to be expended somewhere, so to keep it out of the house, I took the dogs on a good long run outdoors every day. One day on our run, Leo made a quick side-trip into some bushes and reemerged smelling like something really, really bad. I mean REALLY REALLY REALLY bad. And there was disgusting goo all over his fur. As payback for every bad thing I've ever done, I had to get this awful slimy, stinky dog into the back of my Jeep and home, where I could wash him off.

As an aside, I believe that dogs actually understand every word we say, but pretend they don't, so they have more control, similar to when my son Brian was little and used to get plugged ears. I could tell whether they were really plugged or not by standing behind him and whispering, "Brian, would you like some popcorn?" 

Anyway, while muttering and cursing on the drive home I undoubtedly used the word "hose." When the dogs got too gross to allow in the house, I'd wash them off with the outdoor hose, which they hated even worse than a tub bath because the hose water was cold. Never mind the fact that the dogs would readily swim in the 45-degree Puget Sound, and I seriously doubt the hose water was ever that cold, they really really hated being washed off with the hose.

On arriving home, I pulled the Jeep into the garage, pushed a button to close the automatic door, and pulled a lever to pop open the back of the vehicle. Before I could get out and grab him, though, Leo jumped out of the Jeep and raced into the house. 

Panic set in. I could see several days of deep cleaning ahead.

After frantically searching absolutely everywhere else in the house, I looked in the bathroom.

And there was Leo in the tub. 

So, you see, Leo really was good one time, and possibly even more than one time. I'll think about it, and get back to you.

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