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Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Date night...

My first clue was the uniquely sweet aroma of Aqua-Velva after shave. It had been my Dad’s weapon of choice, and I kept a bottle of it in memory of him.

My second clue, was that I detected the aroma long before I got inside the house. Blinking and hacking a little, I unlocked the front door and stepped in. Accompanying the wafting aroma was the deep, rumbling tones of Barry White’s classic, “Can’t Get Enough of Your Love, Baby.”

That’s when I knew that my dog, Snorp, was gearing up for an evening with the ladies.

Over the years, Snorp has developed a reputation as a bit of a ladies’ man. Personally, I think he’s gone out of the way to embellish his prowess with those to whom he refers as “the wenches.” His embellishments come in the form of lies. Although I’ve never seen him in action, word on the street is that he has the tact and demeanor of Kamikaze pilot, once he gets the lady of interest in his sights.

Snorp and I have had many conversations over the years, specifically concerning his use, and the subsequent trashing, of any and all indoor plumbing facilities. Although I bought a new hose, and wading pool, and hooked them up in the backyard for him, he prefers to take long, heavily-bubbled baths in my tub.

Some of the bubbles are the result of his preferred bath conditioner (Mr. Bubble). The rest of the bubbles are more organic in nature, and seem to increase in number in direct proportion to the degree of Snorp’s in-bath relaxation.
Steam fills the bathroom, blurs the mirrors and loosens the wallpaper , as Snorp adds his penetrating tenor to Motown’s classic music. No song is safe, and lately he’s begun to experiment, blending the lyrics of Buck Owens to the rap styling of Biggie Small’s “Spit Your Game.”

With Michael Bolton wailing, “When A Man Loves A Woman,” in the background, Snorp splashed on another near-lethal dose of Aqua-Velva, and hit me up for an extra fifty bucks. “Runnin’ a little behind, Boss,” me muttered, and hit the back door at a full sprint.

From the looks of the bathroom, whoever she is, she’s got Snorp’s full and undivided attention. He’d used 4 towels, a hair dryer, a full bottle of hair conditioner, as well as several yards of dental floss. My toothbrush, bent and stained, was on the floor.  I gagged just a little bit, remembering when he told me how he had often used my toothbrush to ‘deep clean” his ears.

I knew without looking that the tub wasn’t going to drain. I’d learned the hard way that Snorp lost loads of fur in every bath. I figured if I used the yard rake, I could skim off the first dozen or so pounds of soggy, matted hair.

I walked to the refrigerator, got a beer, and wandered out to sit on the couch.  The Manhattans were raising the romantic ante with, “Shining Star.”

I knew the rest of my evening would be filled with clumps of wet, overly conditioned dog hair, washer and dryer filters plugged with the offending fur, and the combined bouquet of Aqua-Velva, Mr. Bubble, soggy dog hair and Baby-Soft conditioner.

Anybody want a dog?