The other night we had a situation with our dog, Milo, that required us using the hose on his backside.
Milo hates baths and that's in a tub with warm water no less, so take him out into the backyard with the cold hose...
The Man gave me the option. Hold Milo, or do the job with the hose.
Since the hose job had the possibilities of being "yucky," I decided that I could hold Milo.
I've always claimed that our dog Strider is the Clydsedale horse of dogs. Apparently, Milo is also, he just doesn't care to exert it as much as his brother.
Milo did not want anything to do with that hose. The Man had tried to do this job before I got home to no avail. When we went into the backyard, Milo knew what was coming.
He tried to run and The Man held him in his arms while I got into place. I watched The Man applying all sorts of muscle power against the struggling dog and knew that I needed to put a lot of weight into this.
I got down on my knees, pulled Milo close to my chest, and wrapped my arms around his torso and in front of his chest while I bent over, laying my body weight on him, enough to hold him there without crushing the ever living daylights out of him.
He struggled, but my hold stayed.
So The Man turned the hose on and began to spray. As soon as that cold water hit Milo's backside that dog doubled his efforts of force. I ended up covered in water and somehow on my back, arms above my head as I valiantly tried to keep my hold on the run away dog. He was running on my hair and my face was being licked by Strider who seemed pleased as punch that it wasn't him who was involved in all of the hassle.
After all of that, the job still needed to be done.
So West held Milo.
And I got the yucky job.
And I got the yucky job done.
In wet clothes, covered in fur and dog saliva.
It was my turn to need a shower after that business.
****
Complete change of course, in case that story wasn't enough for you, here's a beautiful thought for the day:
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