Once again, it is that time of the year... not Christmas, although Fleas of a Dog is a Christmas tune sung by Jose Feliciano, and that is what we had... lots of fleas.
I hate fleas and blame the crappy hot weather. We didn't have any snow last year (none that I could build a mountain out of and lay on) so the whole icky yard was filled with them.
The Human Woman did her best to try to eradicate them using all sorts of pretty smelling and dog friendly concoctions, including one that made us smell like old people cedar chests (and actually that did the trick as far as the house went), but they were still on us, so that meant....
She tricked us into the downstairs bathroom that doesn't have a tub, just a walk in shower.
Mutatoe fell for their trick first and spent the entire time screaming, screeching, yodeling, howling, squirming, and generally sounding like the time the chair kicked his ample ass.
I went next, but only because they literally dragged me into the room kicking and screaming. Honestly it felt pretty good... kinda soothing and with hints of oatmeal and some other stinking thing, but not a good dead stinky thing, which would have been great. I really do feel that if dog shampoo manufacturers made "Stinky Dead Roadkill That's Been Sitting on a Highway for Five Days in the Hot Sun" smelling dog shampoo, dogs would love baths.
Next was Sam, who requires a "no-slip" mat, bubble wrap, cushions, a sling, tongs and extra house insurance to keep him from breaking something else. I swear, you just look at him wrong and something breaks.
It's what we do.