It's been bugging me all winter.

A musky, stale smell that's been lingering in the house. Yep - it's time to wash the dog.

Our Joey is getting older, doesn't shed as much as he used to, but still harbors that long winter's funk.

So I broke down a while back, coaxed the mutt into the bathroom and commenced with the lathering.

The task was somewhat easier back in the day, when I had my daughter helping shine up the pooch. We'd take turns watering down, lathering and rinsing, taking special care to make sure Joey's 'problem areas' got the attention they needed to create a stunning, smell-less masterpiece.

But, the daughter has moved out now, so I am left to tackle this wet-dog process on my own.

I didn't have to chase Joey much, since this is not his first rodeo. Once the bathroom door closes, he resigns himself to the fact that in about an hour, he'll be a dog the family can cuddle close and not have to worry about washing their hands after some heavy petting.

By now I had the essentials: The shampoo, the pitcher for rinsing, combs and brushes and plenty of towels.

Joey has expanded in his middle age, and is testing the width limits of the doggie door these days. I had to remember to brace myself as I scooped him up and set him in the tub.

With a flash, I flicked on the faucet, and we were off.

Joey took his stance, and I made sure the water was a nice temperature of slightly warm before I commenced with the spring shower.

Once wet, I made sure to apply shampoo strategically in a few different regions, and then employed my digits to manipulate some lather and render Joey unrecognizable for a few minutes.

This is always the hard part. The dog wants to shake off all the water and soap, while I am trying to work everything into his coat and ensure that he'll be a pleasure to be around for a few months.

And it's partly my fault. I taught him to "shake" on command years ago, as a way of saving a couple of towels in the drying process.

Unfortunately, now when he is in the tub and he hears any word that has a "sh" sound in it, he thinks I am asking him to fling liquid projectiles everywhere. I say things like "Wash the puppy, wash the puppy," or "You sure are dirty!" and, well, you get the idea.

I have to be quick with the shower curtain when he gets it in his mind that he needs to shake his booty.

Finally, I am convinced that the lathering is successful - time to strip it all away.

As I am rinsing, it is occurring to me how much easier it was doing this with two people. One could be rinsing while the other was holding Joey and directing the water to the still-lathered areas. Now I am left to rinse, fill pitcher and repeat - a hundred times.

About the time my arms feel like they are going to fall off, I decide the soap is all now in the tub or heading down the drain.

I tell Joey to "shake," and he shoots me a look as if to say, "Hey buddy, I've been shaking for 20 minutes now - ask me to do something else."

I finally coax a few half-hearted shakes out of him, and I lift the wet, slinky-like beast out of the tub and onto a foot towel. I grab one of the big bath towels and it is instantly wet from one end to the other. I grab a second, which lasts slightly longer before also being rendered too humid to continue its effectiveness.

A third and fourth towel knock down a little more of the wetness, and I grab for the blow dryer.

The drawer is empty.

Ah, yes, when the daughter moved out, all her bathroom stuff, including the blow dryer, accompanied her.

So now I have to tell Joey to stay, don't move and don't shake, so I can bounce over to our bathroom and grab our dryer.

And of course, as you can guess, he fails miserably on all my directives.

I manage to catch myself from slipping on the wet floor upon re-entry into the room. Armed with the blow dryer, it's time to get serious.

A little side note: Growing up, we had an Irish setter for a while, and he LOVED the blow dryer. What a prima donna.

Joey is getting used to the dryer after all these years, but he still would rather be anywhere else, doing anything else, than standing in the middle of the bathroom floor while someone brushes and blows, brushes and blows until they determine he is "done."

After 15 minutes of brushing and blowing in every possible direction, I have made enough progress that Joey can now be let loose of his incarceration.

But really, he has only made it to the halfway house.

It is too cold today for him to continue air-drying outside, so he is now confined to the house. An hour later, I pat him down and determine he can squeeze through the doggie door and patrol the yard for squirrels, birds and wayward cats.

Hmm... cats. Even though I am allergic, cats at least they can wash themselves.

Looking out over the yard, I see a ton of spring cleaning yet to be done. But at least I can split that up.

Nothing like the two-hour ordeal I have just endured. I think I deserve at least a "thank you" from Joey.

But looking out in the yard, his hind leg-lifting gesture doesn't quite ring with the respect I think I deserve.

You can attempt to reach Jerry Hitchcock at 664-8176, Ext. 2017, or via email at jhitchcock@cdapress.com.