"What's the matter," her friend inquired innocently, closing the door. "As soon as you went out to the van to load up the rest of the stuff for the dog show he ran to the back door and barked. I thought he had to go out," she informed Shelley.
Shelley nodded her head slowly. "He wanted to go out all right," she agreed, trying not to let her voice reveal her distress. "Come over here and I'll show you what I mean."
Walking over to the window Shelley peered outside dreading what she knew she would see next. There, tearing around the yard at warp speed was her wildly frolicsome Siberian Husky.
Squinting her eyes to assess what damage had been done, she realized that it was already difficult for one to discern the color of this particular dog anymore.
Every few steps, the romping canine would slide his muzzle along the ground as if to wipe some offensive substance off its surface. Then after leaping through the air on all fours as if to pounce on a mouse, he collapsed to the ground gleefully grinding the dirt deep into his coat.
Next the Siberian jumped up but must have decided he wasn't quite finished. For as he saw Shelley and her friend watch his performance in horrified disbelief he delightedly rolled over and over again.
The once snowy white Siberian mask and chest were all grey. The luxuriant plush coat was muddy and unrecognizable. Clumps of dirt and leaves dripped off his tail and his legs were black from his toes to his elbows.
"Oh no," her friend uttered in mortification. "I had no idea", she apologized to Shelley. "That's alright," Shelley smiled in understanding. "All my Siberians do that. They act like they have to go outside and they'll fool you every time. Luckily the nights young and I'll throw him back in the tub one more time before the dog show tomorrow."
"It's funny how they all hate to be bathed," she thought out loud as she rinsed out his coat. "Every one of them loves to roll around in the dirt afterward if you let them. And if more than one dog ever gets out at a time, the amount of cleanup is exponentially multiplied by the number of paws contributing to it," Shelley explained. "At least you know now how they can trick you and it won't happen with you again."
The following Thursday Shelley began her Siberian wash-a-thon for the upcoming National Specialty. She opened the cabinet and removed a jug still in the crinkley plastic bag from the dog supply store.
All Siberian ears pricked at the familiar sound. Normally that noise meant toys, treats and chewies. Shelley chuckled as the crowd of canines rushed across the room to investigate and lowered the bag to their level. She laughed as she saw the respective expressions change as each set of inquiring nostrils detected the most loathsome substance known to all Siberian dogdom - a bottle of shampoo.
"Who get the first tubbie," Shelley asked the swarm of vanishing Siberians. "We'll have to hurry if we are going to be ready for when my parents reach town tonight."
Several hours later, Shelley stepped back from the grooming table after blowdrying and brushing her last victim. "There," she said in satisfaction as she surveyed her work.
All 6 dogs were truly a joy to behold. Their beautiful Siberian masks, chests and legs were so blinding white, they were dazzling. Their coats were soft, glossy, super clean to the touch and emanating the light fragrance of the shampoo she loved.
A growl of thunder interrupted her thoughts. "Okay, you guys," she said to her canine family as she ran to get a leash. "I'll have just enough time to walk each of you and clean up before my parents get here."
Shelley just completed these duties when she heard her parents car in the driveway. The rain was driving in torrents. Shelley held the front door open wide as they ran from the driveway to the inside.
"Whew, it's really coming down," she greeted her mother. Come on in and say hi to everybody. Shelley invited her parents to sit down. Not able to resist showing off her beautiful dogs, Shelley released her Siberians to be admired by these infrequent visitors.
"Oh, Shelley honey," her mother paused from stroking the assemblage of silken Siberian heads. "We brought you something but I left it out in the car," her mother said. "I'll get it," Shelley volunteered and threw on a raincoat.
As she sprinted through the rain to their car, she thought for a second she heard the thunder of a horde of Siberian paws bolting to the back of the house and several barks. Shelley froze. No, it couldn't be.
She wheeled around and splashed through the puddles, setting a new land speed record, flinging open the front door just as her mother was closing the back. Not a Siberian was still contained therein.
Shelley's mother regarded the stark white face of her daughter and inquired agreeably, "Is something wrong, dear?"