Shower Dog

The water is running in the shower, and I am sitting naked on the bathroom floor, waiting for the dog inside to get out so that I can get in. It’s not my dog in the shower. I don’t have a dog. I don’t know who he belongs to, if indeed he belongs to anyone. He’s a shadow dog on the other side of the shower curtain, a dark blur through a sheet of plastic.

When I open the curtain, he’s not there. When I close it again, I can see his amorphous form through the plastic. Viewed clearly, he doesn’t exist. Through a view obscured, there he is.

There’s nothing for me to do but wait, which is what I am doing on the floor, legs crossed, arms folded beneath my breasts. He is harmless and never takes more than ten minutes in the shower before he goes back to wherever it is that he comes from.

Sometimes I find his hair caught in the shower drain.

Sometimes there are teeth marks in my bar of soap.

There are nights when he wakes me, whining in the shower, because he can’t turn the water on himself. I get out of bed and come turn it on for him, and then go lay back down for ten or fifteen minutes before coming back to turn off the water again.

Sometimes when I am in the shower, washing shampoo from my hair, I imagine that I can see him on the other side of the curtain, sitting on the tile and waiting for me to finish so that he can come back inside and wash his ears and chew on my soap.

He is such a good dog.

I just wish he didn’t use all the hot water.

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  1. Does he at least clean up his paw marks?

    and this line?”Through a view obscured, there he is.” Well that is just the thing.

    • Kameko

       /  January 8, 2012

      Other than a few stray hairs now and again, he is an immaculate guest.

      Such a good boy.

  2. I. Love. This.

    • Kameko

       /  January 9, 2012

      My house is just a lovely place to visit. Everyone should come over at least once.

      I’ll save you some hot water.


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