In house #349, space was a constraint. Bath in the front portico was avoided because the drinking water sump was located there. So, bath was organized in the rather narrow, rear portion of the house where we had the benefit of a tap.
A Sunday a month – weather permitting - was usually KC’s bath day. Sitting on the sofa he’d watch my movements with great attention. The minute he saw me carrying two buckets, a mug and shampoo out the back door, he sensed what was up. I’m sure I heard him grunt a few times which I presume was equivalent to his saying, “Oh, shit!”
He wasn’t too huge then, so bathing him wasn’t too taxing as it did in the years to come. The strenuous part was to drag him out from the sofa, his favorite hiding place. A few growls and snarling of teeth later, we’d manage to get him around.
His fur was thick and therefore, the first few mugs of water (diluted with Dettol) had to be rubbed into his body. Then came the shampoo; again scrubbed in through his hair to reach the skin. And finally, a bucket or two emptied on him to remove remnants of the soap. In between of course, he’d shake away the water vigorously a few times and spray it all on me soaking me to the skin.
A quick wipe with the towel to remove excess water, and KC was all ready to charge to the portico through the living room for his customary 4 or 5 laps running round and round the limited space with intense joy. We made sure he remained outside for a while so that he was quite dry especially his underbelly portion.
A sumptuous lunch later, our friend would slide under the sofa, snuggle himself for a good siesta and in no time he’d be in dreamland. In the years to come as we moved houses, we had bit more space for his bath. But by then, he’d have grown up, become lot stronger and lot more difficult to handle.
Meanwhile, KC would pray to the Gods for inclement weather every Sunday. Most times his prayers got answered and it would be months before the shampoo was next used.