In which Fly has two baths in one day, and is not happy.

Fly hates baths. So much so, that she very rarely goes upstairs, because that is where the bathtub is. I am no longer capable of dragging her upstairs for a bath by myself- it is necessary for Matt to scoop her up and carry her upstairs to the bathtub when she needs washing, with the poor dog crying the whole way. Now normally, she only really needs a bath every few weeks (a bathing schedule my young sons are quite envious of.) However, this morning before church when she was let outside to do her doggy business, she found a particularly delightful pile of poop (whose, I don't know) to roll in. Since this activity left her in such a state as to not be welcome in my house, it was necessary to rush her in to the bathtub. A wet, unhappy, but much better smelling dog came out. She dried out and fluffed up while we went to church. We got home and let her out to do her doggy business again, and a boy set to work removing all the icky piles of temptation from the back yard. But alas, the dog was quicker than the boy, and managed in that few minutes to roll in yet another pile of poop. Back in the bathtub she went for bath number two. The poor dog has been skittering around corners nervously all afternoon in fear of being dragged off to the chamber of soapy horrors yet again.