The dog stunk. Bad.
It's been hot and although the majority of his days are spent on his throne (an over sized ottoman) he does go outside and in doing so he smells like a hot, dog. You know what that smells like, right? Worse than teen b.o. and cleat sweat put together.
I was pleasantly surprised the other afternoon, when I woke from my Sunday nap and Ben told me he had bathed the dog. His actual words were, "me and Shorty took a shower". And he had, with the dog, in his bathing suit (Ben...not the dog).
I was so happy. The dog smelled great. Ben told me he had used my head and shoulders shampoo, "so Shorty will not have any dandruff." Not that he had before, but it was a nice thought. And I was hardly irritated when I went downstairs and found he had used my new towel set to dry the dog. Or that my bathroom rug felt like it had been through a monsoon. Not even when I had to get on my hands and knees and clean the shower drain free of a hairball the size of a guinea pig. It's all good. My kid helped without being asked. Makes a momma proud. That is until I got out of the shower the next morning and grabbed my hairbrush. My new hair brush, that makes my hair do that perfect smooth ,flippy behind my ears thing (without being too poofy or frizzy)....like no other brush I have ever owned has done. The hairbrush that now has old, wet dog hair matted into the bristles. Yes, he groomed the dog with my hairbrush. Would it be wierd to put a kid on restriction for doing chores?
