Her ears go down when she hears, “bath.”
In the tub she goes.
She looks up with sad eyes.
She tries to escape but knows she’s defeated.
Wrapped in a towel, she knows what’s next.
She scurries but settles on the towel
as the familiar sound of the dryer fills the room.
She puts her head on my lap and looks up at me
as if asking how long ’till it ends.
It’s over and she’s clean and fluffy.
Out the door she goes, frisky and free.
Now, I look in the mirror and the one
that needs a bath is me.