A reminder that a dog is a dog.

Friday is a funny day. The Girl is really tired from 3 days on the bounce at nursery and it’s her swimming day. She loves swimming. Loves it. You can tell by the ‘swwwiiiiimmmmm’ shriek we get when we arrive. And the splashing. 

This means that whatever I try I have to wash my hair at some point after swimming. There is zero point in trying to keep a blow-dry nice during swimming even if all I really do is stand and hold The Girl. Plus it is hotter then the sun in those places so even once dry and dressed I can feel sweat running down my back. So when I get home, I have to somehow have a shower. If I can get The Girl to nap I can usually manage it. This week she had slept before swimming, so while she was nice and clean (no one minds naked toddlers waddling round the edge of the pool. I feel people would object to the parents joining in) I was still swimming-pool scented. I attempt showering by locking everyone on the landing and leaving the bathroom door open so I can see them. The Boy is fed and contained in his rocker in the bathroom with me. The Girl has some toys and is wandering about. She can’t get anywhere to cause damage, and I will only be 7 minutes, max. I have learnt to be fast.  

I am quick.  

By the time I get out everyone is wailing. The Boy for some unknown reason, The Girl, because I got the wrong toys out. The Dog is desperate to lick the water off my legs, and the bath. And anything else. The Girl is so distraught about something she feels the need to throw herself at my legs as I get out. 

I am dripping wet, being licked obsessively and nearly flat on my back. The wailing is building to a crescendo. I am selfish. How dare I want a shower. How could I want to smell of something other then chlorine? Selfish. 

You'd think that having the husband home might make this sort of thing easier. But today we tried between us to bath both children in one go, but we were wrong to think this would save time. 

The Boy cries his eyes out because it’s too cold, then too hot, then too cold when he is taken out. Also, we tried to chop his fingers off (clip his nails) and it’s been at least 20 minutes since he last ate. Plus he has only slept once all day so he is ready to let us know what assholes he thinks we are trying to make him clean.

Meanwhile The Girl has gone suspiciously quiet in her room. We soon discover why when she tells us ‘mummy daddy poo poo.’ Daddy looks but can’t see it. She goes back to play in her room until her turn in the bath.  

She arrives back to tell us ‘me bath’ and daddy helps her undress.  

There is a ‘poopoo’ in her nappy, Daddy knows because he put his hand in it, so we clean her up before putting her in the bath...daddy lifts her into the bath and as he does, disaster strikes! The Dog, who has been loitering around because it’s not far off 6pm, has retrieved said poo from the nappy (which was left not quite sealed up for the second we were putting The Girl in the bath,) and is running round the cramped bathroom with it. She then proceeds to drop it on the floor and start eating it! The hysteria that follows is comical. Or it would be if it wasn’t for the fact that our beautiful Cavalier is genuinely eating toddler poo. If we ever needed a reminder that our precious little pooch is just a dog after all, here it was.

We clean up the chaos and the husband hilariously tried to persuade The Dog to lick my face.

Funny. 

Well, the toddler and her daddy think so. The dog probably does too. 

She is a beautiful dog. Loving and pretty and a proper little diva sometimes, but today she reminds us that she is, after all, just a dog. And sometimes they are a bit gross.