It was a Saturday night bath like any good Saturday night bath: a steaming hot tub, a tall glass of ice water sitting nearby, beads of water sweating down its sides, a good book on the Kindle and nowhere to go. The cats usually hover around the edge, staring down at the water and me relaxing in it as though perplexed as to why I'd do such a silly thing, occasionally dipping a curious paw into my glass or battling at the water with quick, furious jabs, but last night they were absent, leaving me in peace. I hadn't been in very long before I decided to put the Kindle down and close my eyes to listen to the soft drip of the water from the faucet. The serenity was shattered quite unexpectedly by the poke of a cold nose against my temple, a great heave immediately followed by a splash and Duncan's sudden appearance in the middle of my relaxing soak. His wet tail slapped me in the face as he turned around to face me and give me a quick lick on the nose, his eyes bright and wide, a smile on his face as he stood right on top of me in the belly deep water.
It was all the signal I needed, so first thing this morning Roo got a bath all to himself, with me helping with the scrubbing and rinsing and toweling while Ken snapped a few blurry pictures of the now sorry-looking dog. He truly doesn't mind the tub, despite the woeful look on his face. After a walk in the snow he typically marches straight to the bathroom and climbs in the tub so I can rinse the ice that's been embedded out from under the pads of his feet. And nothing beats a good toweling off as he stretches and moans and pushes himself against me. He is not a dog who dislikes a bath.
Maybe he'll think twice next time about sending such a clear message, though.