“Get in, you’re too much of a lump to get you in the bath by myself”
Kato clamped her front paws to the shower doorway. I shoved.
“It’s just lukewarm, get in, you smell like an abattoir, KATO”
“Humans going very crimson Katrina, perhaps you should just comply” said Frodi watching from the safety of the bathroom doorway.
I pushed Kato’s ample butt, but the front of the dog seemed to twist 180 degrees and she ended up behind me. I slipped and caught myself with one arm on the shower wall, soaking my sleeve which I hadn’t rolled up yet.
“Kato! You are going in the shower!”
Kato sat down and welded her arse to the bathroom floor. I turned off the shower and got in it. Tried pulling the front of the dog. Kato was now one of those bendy stretch toys from the 70s, and as much front dog as I got in the shower, her bottom remained stationary. I climbed over her and tried pushing again, with one heave I got her in, shut the door so I could just get my arm in and turned the shower on. Kato limpetted herself to the opposite shower wall and evaded the water.
Un-deterred I unhooked the shower attachment and sprayed her. She did an all over shake and kept shaking, the entire shower unit wobbled, the house wobbled, I wondered what the neighbours must think.
I was drenched. But still determined. I turned off the shower and grabbed the dog shampoo.
“Napalm” squeaked Kato and launched herself through the now open shower door. Kato rocketed past me to our bedroom with me in pursuit. Frodi nimbly hopped to one side to avoid the stampede. Kato jumped on the bed, shook herself then stretched out resembling a king-size polar bear rug, complete with gaping mouth. Now saturated Kato had doubled in weight. I sighed, and looked at Frodi. Frodi misinterpreted this look as being the reserve for Dog Washing Mission and made himself invisible.