Some things are best left to the professionals ...

The dog smell can no longer be ignored. I either have to call the dog groomer and shell out some serious cash, or I have to bite the bullet and revisit doing it myself. I decide this is a manageable DIY project. I have a flash-back to mud flying and two wet dogs sprinting  throughout the house. I shudder and hesitate. But only for a moment. The memory of the last groomer's bill strengthens my resolve. I push aside the horrors of the last attempt. I can do this. I am a grown woman. I have given birth. I have climbed a mountain. I have watched Criminal Minds at midnight with no one home ... I reaffirm that I can do this.

The dogs look so innocent staring up at me with their matted hair and goofy grins. I chuckle at my weak moment. I grab my hose attachment, shed-free shampoo, five dog towels, two leashes, and a plan. They are following me around watching my every move. I sense that they too are devising a plan.  

I have learned to divide and conquer. I bathe them one at a time. It is going pretty smoothly. I feel confident. I’m soaked and cold but one is done. I put my monster male in the bathroom. So far, so good. My female tests my mettle a bit more as she writhes on her back trying to escape the water. Soap flies everywhere. I get a little in my eye. I now have a twitch. It’s OK. I can live with a twitchy eye. Overall, I feel empowered.

I discover all 5 towels are soaked from dog number one. I leave her wet and put her in the bathroom with the other one. I turn my attention to the drying issue.

The blow-dryer proved ill-conceived last time. No one got dry, and I burned out the machine. I look in the garage for inspiration. The leaf- blower looks promising. I haul it back to the bathroom and plug it in while the dogs wiggle on their backs and attempt to knock me down. I begin to think they devised a plan to defeat me while I was in the garage. I am not going down without a fight.

I turn on the blower and pandemonium breaks out. My male begins to scoot at breakneck speed on his back as my female runs panicked in and out of the extension cord. In seconds, the two are completely tangled in the cording, the floor is a skating rink and I am on the floor on my back struggling to keep the leaf-blower from knocking me in the head. I turn it off. 

That did not go as planned. We all calm down and the two are now staring at me. The dogs and I are all panting and a little sweaty. My female appears traumatized. I consider the knot on my head and the possibilty of head trauma.

I curse quietly under my breath and mop up the floor with my good towels. I gather up the wet mess, and place the lot in the washing machine. I leave the dogs in the bathroom and regain my composure. I am only slightly bruised. With a twitch. And a probable concussion. But, I'll live.

I decide to revisit the blow-dryer plan. It was only twenty dollars. I begin the tedious process of towel-drying and blow-drying when I hear the tell-tale sounds of the washer going off-balance. I choose to ignore it. It gets louder. I begin to have visions of it walking and crashing through sheet rock. This would dramatically cut into my savings on the project. I abandon the blow drying and the dogs to fix the washer. More cussing as I notice the washer on its way out of the laundry room. Three minutes later I return.

Disaster has struck. The two demon dogs have broken into the closet and shredded their dog beds. There are chunks of foam filler all over the closet -- top to bottom -- all over clothes, embedded in shoes. I scream. They look up momentarily distracted. I go to get the broom and dustpan. There is much louder cursing. I return and open the door. Both dogs shoot out knocking me off my feet again, a trail of foam pieces following them throughout the house. More bruising. Some crying. I slowly begin the clean-up process and acknowledge that I am no match for my two Golden Retrievers.

I take a photo of the demolition and post it on my fridge next to the number for the groomer.