Alfalfa does not like baths. Thank goodness guinea pigs do not need to be bathed often. Because I think if I had to give Alfalfa a bath more often I’d lose most of my fingers. Each bath is an epic battle that I loose.
Last week I started smelling Alfalfa. To be honest, I was starting to smell him before I saw him. I knew it was time to give him a bath. I started with the standard boar alternative to a full bath… a butt bath.
I must give away the fact that I’m about to clean or bath Alfalfa because he always has the same reaction: he runs. So when I called, “Alfalfa, dude,” he ran. I heard him digging himself father under the bed than he should. “Alfalfa!” I admonished him and went to find him under the bed. Again, I could smell him before I saw him. So, I used my nose to find him. As I grabbed his butt, he whined and protested. “Got ya!” I said lifting him to my chest. “Butt bath!” I declared as I got up and walked into the kitchen. Alfalfa wailed at me. “Oh, cut it out…” I scolded him.
When I got to the sink I turned on the water to make sure it was the perfect temperature. I shoved his grubby butt under the kitchen sink faucet. He chattered his teeth in protest. I scrubbed his wax spot, manly parts, and other back side areas. After about five minutes of scrubbing, I declared him clean. I put the furious guinea pig on the floor. He left a trail of beans behind as he fled. “Thanks,” I called to a butt ducking under the bed skirt, “I needed that!”
I cleaned the sink and vacuumed the beans. As I was heading to the couch I heard Alfalfa under the bed. He seemed to be scratching something. I got down and lifted the bed skirt. Alfalfa was trying to roll in his own poop and pee on his litter pan. “ALFALA!” escaped my mouth in part whisper and part yell. I could not believe it. He was stinking himself up. “OOOOOOOOO,” I hissed and grabbed him again before he could bolt.
“You are not even dry yet,” I said as I carried him to the bathroom. “I can’t believe that you hate smelling good so much that you would roll in your own waste.” Alfalfa didn’t make a sound. He knew he was in the dog, errr, pig house. I put Alfalfa in the tub away from the faucet. I ran the water to temperature. As the tub filled I got out his bath soap, towel, and brush.
Alfalfa was still sitting there looking at me as if I was torturing him. “Oh, don’t give me that…” I said as I set up by the edge of the tub. The tub was just filled enough to cover about 1/3 of Alfalfa’s flank. So, I grabbed him and began to wash and scrub. I think he likes it when I scrub him. He always lets me get him all soapy. As I was scrubbing Alfalfa my doorbell rang. “Oh,” I sighed, “Who could that be?”
“Kurry Annej? Jest me!” I heard the lady from across the hall call from behind the door.
“Hold on, Alfalfa,” I told my guinea pig, “I’ll be back.” I didn’t have to worry about Alfalfa in the tub, right? The sides of the tub were too high for him to jump over, right? He couldn’t get out, right? Well, that’s next week…