Tale of a Tub

Here is a sad and woeful tale of a pitiful Frenchie and the day she was betrayed by the woman who claimed to care for her. A sunny day, a peaceful day, a perfectly warm and lovely day, shot to smithereens and spoiled by an unreasoning insistence on cleanliness.
Pixie asks us, plaintively: Why can't people and dogs agree to disagree on the question of what constitutes clean? Why can't we come to an understanding of the cultural differences embedded in our ways of life? Why must an innocent sleeping dog be snatched from a comfy nap and slapped into a cold and unwelcoming basin on a mere whim?
Pixie's willing to give a little on this. She might understand a dunking and a bit of a scrub and a rub-a-dub-dub if she were to encounter the stripey black stink. She might even allow that comfort levels may vary when it comes to the lovely fragrances of decaying groundhog or goose droppings.
Tastes differ. She gets that.

And yet, to be merely ordinarily soiled, to have a decent coating of oil and a nice aroma of outdoors, consisting of mud, cow-pasture, corn chips and sunshine, to have this hard-earned personal signature scent erased, washed off, scrubbed away: it's a damnable affront to the dignity and rights of canines everywhere. Look at the poor thing! Betrayal. That's what it is. Abuse of power.

Enough! Rise up, Frenchie friends and don the chinkless armor of righteousness. Do not go gentle into that cold tub! Fight, bite against the big hand and the revolting scent of geraniums and gardenia! When you hear the running of the water in the tub, creep silently into the deepest forest, take cover under the heaviest furniture, and let your sister take the bath.


Oh, the indignity and horror of it all. Oh, the inhumanity.

People. Such philistines and cretins have no appreciation for the subtleties and nuances of personal expression.

Ah, Pixie, alas! It is too true, too true. How often we have seen these humans destroy their own beloved children's beautiful accrual of grime and stickiness for the sake of some abstract ideal: "nice and clean" they call it. So ends the horrible, the unjust and infamous Tale of the Tub.

And now, once more into the great outdoors she goes to begin again to find the perfect balance of filth and fragrance, of dirt and deliciousness that will tell the world that she has lived and left her mark. It's an art, really.

We recognize your pain and sadness, Pixie. Our handmaiden has often ignored our objections and summarily soaped us and scrubbed us and scented us while we cursed the day of her birth and all her ancestors. To add insult to injury she sings and utters assinine comments all the while: "My Goodness, How did you get so dirty?" she says. And, "Isn't that better?" she says. And, "Look, Highness! I've made you an elegant shampoo hat!" and she laughs at us in the most insolent and mocking way.

These are the times we'd like to beat her with a knobby stick. A big one.

The Frog Princess

PS: If your own person is deserving of a little gift, you should visit the Holiday auction on the front page of the FBRN website. There are some items there your Frenchie lover will squeal and jump up and kiss you for. One of a kind things. And they go away tomorrow, so get your bids in today!