​​​​​​Because humor is funnier when you know it's true.

Don’t wash, don’t tell: Walking the dog​ (continued)

“I wouldn’t put my dog in the kitchen sink,” said Eileen. “I prepare food there.”

“They wipe his butt? With a baby wipe? Right over the kitchen counter?” asked Deb. “I’m sorry but that’s weird.”

I was relieved to find that I was right — it WAS weird. I’d been looking forward to walking Butch. But the post-walk wash? Not so much.

When I arrived for our first walk, Butch greeted me with happy yelps and a wagging tail. It was a beautiful spring day and I enjoyed our stroll so much I forgot all about what was coming. But apparently Butch didn’t. Bob had said that Butch would meekly follow me to the kitchen and submit to his post-walk wash. Instead, the moment I released him from his leash, he took one wild look at me and fled.

I found him sitting quietly on the bed in the master bedroom.

“C’mon, Butch,” I said. “Time to wash up!”

He gave me a look that clearly said, “Maybe I have to put up with that routine from Bob and Beth. But you aren’t getting me into that sink.”

Taking his collar, I pulled gently.

“C’mon, Butchie! Let’s go.”

He didn’t budge.

“Do I really have to pick you up and carry you down the steps and take you into the kitchen and put you in the sink?”

The look he gave me said, “Try it and die.”

I fetched some wipes from the kitchen and used them to wipe his paws — and just his paws. Then I fed him a treat and rubbed his head. “If you don’t tell,” I said. “I won’t.”