I gave Sparky a bath today. Afterward, he ran to the bed and wallowed in the sheets. (They're in the dryer right now.) Because all those towels I put on the floor weren't good enough, apparently.
He doesn't like baths. But he'll suffer through them, quietly for the most part, dignified in his disgrace. Afterward, though, he's a damp, water-shaking dervish. He runs through the house, a grin stretching his mouth as he jumps from bed to bed, racing into my held-out towels head first, making quick u-turns that strip the sheets from the mattress.
You'd think I wouldn't have to coax him into the bath tub with bits of banana (it was the nearest thing handy). Not even the promise of becoming a "PRETTY BOY!" can entice him into the tub. Despite his retriever half, he's not much for water sport.
Fortunately, he's not much for mud, either, and generally avoids it. (Unlike my last dog, who lived for muddy, stinky messes.) I actually think he's a little relieved to be clean and smelling like strawberries again.