I don’t know how she does it, but Beanie’s always had a remarkable ability to clean herself. Some days she’s come back from the park covered in mud yet still emerged from her bed a couple of hours later in a relatively presentable state. Lately however we’ve noticed that although she usually appears fairly clean, her subtle houndy scent has been replaced by a far less fragrant eau de toilet. After a particularly muddy park session at the weekend (the results of which can be seen below) I decided it was time to introduce Beanie to the pleasure of bathing.

I got some “no tears” puppy shampoo, grabbed my muddy pup and headed up to the bathroom. Rather than using the bath though, I opted for the shower cubicle. I figured this would reduce the chances of Beanie staging her own episode of “Home Makeover – Beagle Edition”. To avoid Beanie getting stressed by the slippery surface of the shower floor, I threw an old towel down and put her on that, then got in with her and closed the door.

It soon became apparent that Beanie isn’t too keen on power-showers. She kept drying to dodge the water so I ran the jet through my free hand before it reached her, and she calmed down and accepted her lot. The lathering phase was much more enjoyable though; she stood perfectly still while I massaged her with the gel. Even so, I tried to get things over with quickly and proceeded to the final rinse off in short order.

When she emerged from the cubicle she looked like a drowned rat. Drowned, but clean. After a towel dry I performed a sniff test and found my first Beagle wash to be generally successful. Her body and most of her head now smelled fresh, but I’d missed a smelly spot on her ear flaps. Still it was a big improvement, and I don’t think she’s been left with any fear of future bath times.