inquired what the method was.
'Whenever he gets fed up with my scratching or can't stand the smell any more, he ties me to a drainpipe, then turns a hose on me. I try to keep out of his way when I'm particularly rancid.'
I shivered at the thought. It was mid-winter.
'There's another way,' Rumbo went on. 'It's just as cold, but at least it's more effective.'
'Anything. Anything's better than this itching.'
'Well,' he hesitated, 'I usually reserve this for warmer times, but if you insist...'
I took up my usual position on his left, my head level with his flank, and we trotted out of the yard. He took me to a park, a big one this, and quite a distance from our home. The park contained a pond. And Page 42
when we reached it, Rumbo told me to jump in.
'Are you kidding?' I said. 'We'll freeze to death. Besides, I don't even know if I can swim.'
'Don't be daft,' Rumbo retorted. 'All dogs can swim. As for the cold, you'll find this less unpleasant than being hosed down by the Guvnor. Come on, give it a try.'
With that he plunged into the water, much to the delight of the few children and their parents who were about that wintry morning. Rumbo paddled out to the middle of the pond, swift and confident. He even ducked his head beneath the surface, something I'd never seen a dog do before. I could just imagine the panic among those fleas as they fled to the top of his head, the last refuge on a sinking island, and then their dismay as even this sunk below the waters. He swam in an arc and headed back towards me, calling out for me to join in. But I was too much of a coward.
He reached the bank and hauled himself out. Mothers dragged their offspring away, for they knew what was going to happen next. The dope (yes, me) didn't.
I was drenched with a freezing shower of water as my friend (my crafty friend) shook his whole body to rid his fur of excess moisture. I felt foolish as well as angry; I'd seen dogs do this often enough in my past life, so I shouldn't have been caught napping. Anyway, there I stood, dripping wet, as cold as if I'd plunged in myself.
'Come on, squirt, you're wet enough. You might as well go the whole way now,' Rumbo laughed.
I shivered and had to admit he was right. There was no point in not going in now. I crept towards the edge of the pond and gingerly dipped in a front paw. I pulled it out fast; the water was colder than freezing! I turned my head to tell Rumbo I'd changed my mind, I could put up with the itching for a few more months till the weather got warmer. I barely caught a glimpse of his big black body as he hurtled himself at me. With a yelp of surprise, I fell head-first into the pond, Rumbo tumbling in behind.
I came up spluttering, gasping for air, my mouth and throat, my nose, my ears, my eyes filled with choking water.
'Ooh!' I cried. 'Ooooh!' And over the sound of my splashing I could hear Rumbo laughing. I wanted to strike back at him, I wanted to drown him, but I was too busy trying to survive the cruel pond. My teeth were chattering and my breathing came in short, desperate gasps. Pretty soon - when I realised I could swim - the unpleasantness drowned instead of me and I began to enjoy this new experience. I kicked out with my back legs and paddled with my paws, just managing to keep my nose above the waterline. The effort prevented my limbs from going completely numb and I found I could use my tail as a sort of rudder.
'How d'you like, pup?' I heard Rumbo call out.
Looking about, I saw that he was back in the centre of the pond. I made towards him.
'It's g-good, Rumbo, b-but it's cold,' I replied, my anger forgotten.
'Huh! You wait till you get out!' He submerged again and came up smiling. 'Down you go, pup, put your head under or you'll never get rid of them!'
Page 43
I remembered the point of the exercise and ducked my head beneath the surface. I came up coughing.
'Again, pup, again! Go right under or they'll never leave you!'
Down I went again, this time holding my
'Whenever he gets fed up with my scratching or can't stand the smell any more, he ties me to a drainpipe, then turns a hose on me. I try to keep out of his way when I'm particularly rancid.'
I shivered at the thought. It was mid-winter.
'There's another way,' Rumbo went on. 'It's just as cold, but at least it's more effective.'
'Anything. Anything's better than this itching.'
'Well,' he hesitated, 'I usually reserve this for warmer times, but if you insist...'
I took up my usual position on his left, my head level with his flank, and we trotted out of the yard. He took me to a park, a big one this, and quite a distance from our home. The park contained a pond. And Page 42
when we reached it, Rumbo told me to jump in.
'Are you kidding?' I said. 'We'll freeze to death. Besides, I don't even know if I can swim.'
'Don't be daft,' Rumbo retorted. 'All dogs can swim. As for the cold, you'll find this less unpleasant than being hosed down by the Guvnor. Come on, give it a try.'
With that he plunged into the water, much to the delight of the few children and their parents who were about that wintry morning. Rumbo paddled out to the middle of the pond, swift and confident. He even ducked his head beneath the surface, something I'd never seen a dog do before. I could just imagine the panic among those fleas as they fled to the top of his head, the last refuge on a sinking island, and then their dismay as even this sunk below the waters. He swam in an arc and headed back towards me, calling out for me to join in. But I was too much of a coward.
He reached the bank and hauled himself out. Mothers dragged their offspring away, for they knew what was going to happen next. The dope (yes, me) didn't.
I was drenched with a freezing shower of water as my friend (my crafty friend) shook his whole body to rid his fur of excess moisture. I felt foolish as well as angry; I'd seen dogs do this often enough in my past life, so I shouldn't have been caught napping. Anyway, there I stood, dripping wet, as cold as if I'd plunged in myself.
'Come on, squirt, you're wet enough. You might as well go the whole way now,' Rumbo laughed.
I shivered and had to admit he was right. There was no point in not going in now. I crept towards the edge of the pond and gingerly dipped in a front paw. I pulled it out fast; the water was colder than freezing! I turned my head to tell Rumbo I'd changed my mind, I could put up with the itching for a few more months till the weather got warmer. I barely caught a glimpse of his big black body as he hurtled himself at me. With a yelp of surprise, I fell head-first into the pond, Rumbo tumbling in behind.
I came up spluttering, gasping for air, my mouth and throat, my nose, my ears, my eyes filled with choking water.
'Ooh!' I cried. 'Ooooh!' And over the sound of my splashing I could hear Rumbo laughing. I wanted to strike back at him, I wanted to drown him, but I was too busy trying to survive the cruel pond. My teeth were chattering and my breathing came in short, desperate gasps. Pretty soon - when I realised I could swim - the unpleasantness drowned instead of me and I began to enjoy this new experience. I kicked out with my back legs and paddled with my paws, just managing to keep my nose above the waterline. The effort prevented my limbs from going completely numb and I found I could use my tail as a sort of rudder.
'How d'you like, pup?' I heard Rumbo call out.
Looking about, I saw that he was back in the centre of the pond. I made towards him.
'It's g-good, Rumbo, b-but it's cold,' I replied, my anger forgotten.
'Huh! You wait till you get out!' He submerged again and came up smiling. 'Down you go, pup, put your head under or you'll never get rid of them!'
Page 43
I remembered the point of the exercise and ducked my head beneath the surface. I came up coughing.
'Again, pup, again! Go right under or they'll never leave you!'
Down I went again, this time holding my
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