A Poem About A Dog Having A Bath, by A.F. Harrold.


The dog in the bathroom is starting to bark. He spent the afternoon playing games in the park, chasing every stick and every thrown ball and rolling in the puddles,
both the big and the small. When it started raining and the mud splashed up he started rolling around like an excitable pup who’d never seen a muddy, mucky bit of ground before. he got as dirty as a dog can get… …and then he got more. But! Now we’ve come home, we’re indoors in the dry and up in the bathroom he begins to cry as Mum attempts to dislodge the caked mud and the grit and the dirt
and she goes scrub, scrub, scrub. But! He makes an awful fuss and he makes an awful row and it’s woof, bark, bark, yelp, grrr, yelp, growl… it’s bark, yelp, woof, grunt, growl, bark, howl – cos she’s got soap in his eyes and he can’t reach the towel… …because he’s a dog… …and his arms are not long… and with paws instead of hands, well… …he couldn’t hold on to the towel anyway… so he barks and he cries as any dog would who got soap in their eyes. But! He’ll get his own back on Mum in a minute… …when it’s time to dry him off,
well, she tries to begin it… …by rubbing him dry, but he makes a quick break… …and runs into her bedroom… …for a good… …old… …shake. [jowly noises] Except a dog shakes… I can’t shake like a dog… …that’s the closest we get. Ow! Hurt my beard. Sorry.

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