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Every couple of weeks, we give Bayley, our 8-year-old cocker spaniel, a bath. Bath day for our dog is a carefully orchestrated event at our house.

The routine and scheduling of events has been fine-tuned and practiced to ensure, as much as possible, an uneventful bath experience. Bayley hates his bath and has done everything in his power to put a stop to bath day. Now, for the most part, Bayley accepts that he is a dog and must take a bath to appease his people.

The drama begins when my son pulls out the bath collar -- an old collar we use only for Bayley's bath.

Immediately, Bayley's head and tail drop. As always, he walks slowly around the house, trying to find a place to hide. It's the same routine every time.

Hiding is pointless. Even if we can't see him, his presence is given away by his smell. Eventually Bayley walks slowly to his collar, his bath fate is sealed.

Generally, my son takes Bayley for a walk on bath day, hoping that he will expend enough energy that he will have little left to fight his bath. I should say that my son takes Bayley for a walk so that he won't fight his bath as much as he used to. Everything is relative to past bath events.

During the walk, Bayley creeps along as my son walks him, knowing what is coming. After about 30 minutes of walking, my son brings Bayley inside, and the drama continues.

Quickly Bayley is ushered into the bathroom and over the edge of the tub. The bathroom door shuts, and sounds of splashing are heard.

My husband begins to sweet-talk Bayley, telling him what a dirty dog he is and how much better he is going to look and feel once the bath is over.

I doubt Bayley cares about looking or feeling good because baths are nearly unbearable to him. It is one of those unspeakable acts that Bayley endures because he has to.

Occasionally, my husband directs Bayley to turn or to sit a particular way so he can be rinsed.

After five to 10 minutes, Bayley is told to give my husband a paw so it can be wrung out. Bayley takes his big fluffy paw and slaps it down hard on the edge of the tub, splashing water all over the place and on my husband's clothes.

This happens three more times until all four paws successfully exit the tub onto the towel on the floor.

Bayley is then dried off enough so he isn't dripping.

In one swift move, the bathroom door opens and Bayley pulls my son, who has been holding the leash and helping his dad, out of the bathroom with crazed enthusiasm.

It isn't a good idea to be in the pathway between the bathroom and the front door in those 10 seconds.

After Bayley charges outside, he is walked a bit more and put on the front porch for his fur to dry.

Bayley stares at the door, looking abandoned. Everything he loves is inside that front door. Bayley longs for his food dish, his bed and his toys. He wants the comforts of home -- his home. (Read: spoiled dog)

Even the people who love to fill that food dish, bought him those toys and scratch his belly are inside.

Eventually, Bayley lies down on our sled mat at the door. By being outside, he knows he is living on the edge (of the porch). Impending doom and danger surround him. He barks at a squirrel and whines if he sees a person walk down the road.

I check on him about 30 minutes after his bath and find him lying down, facing the door, listening for any signs of life inside the house that might signal his rescue.

As soon as Bayley hears something, he pops his head up and starts to wiggle, whine and whimper. He is hoping someone will finally unhook him from his chain and troubles.

"I hear one of my people inside," his whining and whimpering seem to say.

"They are coming; I know they are. If only I can look depressed enough that they will let me back into the house."

An hour or so later, after standing firm against Bayley's attempts to make us feel sorry for him, I go outside to get a cleaner, sun-dried Bayley and bring him inside.

Fresh bedding, a full food dish and a few rounds of playing tinkle ball with my son, and all is right with Bayley's world once again.

Until we have to do it all over again in a few weeks.

Linda Vestal gladly talks about her interests and opinions from the perspective of a wife, mother, daughter, sister and friend living in Gibsonville. Contact her with comments or story ideas at lindavestal@triad.rr.com.