Fetch, Felix!

Chapter Three

 My confidence drifted down the drain with clumps of dog fur and mud clods.

Did this dog have a pastime of rolling in mud puddles?

I sighed yet again as I scrubbed more baby shampoo into his coat, wondering if I was making any progress. I had only learned the dog's gender during the shower. Oh, and that dogs like to ruin people's clothes even more so than usual during baths.

My clothes were sticking to me, sopping like the dog in front of me. I would have to shower as well after this ordeal.

"Is *grunt* it shedding season?" I mumbled, trying to detangle a rough patch of hair with my fingers. He sneezed in reply, making me jump. He let out some sort of dog laugh in response to my reaction, which made me glower.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. You're not the one trying to clean a dog that's been through a garbage compactor."

That shut him up.

I took a break to stretch my back out, which was killing me. I glanced down at the dog to see if he looked any better than before, and realized this was the first time I could see the real color of his coat. He had a black coat with a white belly and chest that narrowed out to a stripe on his forehead. Rusty patches of brown lined his chest, ran up his legs, and gave him expressive eyebrows. I figured it out. He was a Bernese Mountain Dog. I'm pretty sure they were a pricy breed, so I wondered why someone would just dump him on the street. Heartless people. As well as dumb.

I went back to untangling and lathering.

"Dude, I'm about to pass out," I groaned, the job finally finished. I was currently laying on my back on the tile floor, the dog cozied up in the two towels next to me. He was satisfied with my job and had given my arm a lick before nestling in the towels. I had crinkled my nose in disgust.

I pushed myself up in a sitting position, my whole body protesting. I winced when I heard my back snap crackle and pop. My posture normally was terrible... this was a whole new level of pain. I ignored it, scrunching my face and standing up. After one damn dog washing, this is the condition I'm in. Pathetic.

I slipped my shirt off and tossed it on the ground, creating a splat sound. It alarmed bernie boy, who followed the shirt to its thrower with his gaze. I snorted, knowing that we were even now. He startled me, I startled him.

I stepped out of my sticky sweatpants, leaving them in a watery heap by the shower door. And finally, my boxers.

That felt so much better already. I was not overly uncomfortable from the weighted clothes. I flipped the shower on, tossing my hair tie over the glass door. The dog was still looking at me.

"Do you have any sense of decency?" I chided, causing him to snap out of it and look away almost sheepishly.

No, I'm imagining things again. A dog can't do that. Or can they?

I stared a beat longer, waiting. Waiting for what? Proof he's not a dog or something?

Now I was the judgmental one.

I relaxed under the hot spray of water, tired of scrubbing. And detangling.

The dog was clean. Like, really clean. I hated to admit it, but he was gorgeous. His coat shone and he was happy because he obviously felt better. He was also allowed inside now. I didn't like that, but my parents were overjoyed. As soon as I brought him out of my room to shove him back outside, my parents crowded around him, praising him and upping his doggy ego.