Ollie Makes Peace with Shampoo

Dad set the cup on the tub edge. “Your paw forgot its job,” he said kindly. Ollie looked at his paw, wet and soapy. “It wanted my nose.” Dad smiled. “Noses can wait for a towel.” Ollie put both paws back on his tummy. He tipped his chin up until the ceiling light looked round and blurry.

“Let’s send the water down the back path,” Dad said. He scooped a little cupful, not a big one. Ollie made his ready shape. Hand roof. Chin up. Paws still. The rinse slid through the shampoo and down behind his ears. It sounded like quiet rain on leaves. Ollie’s shoulders loosened under the towel.

Dad showed Ollie the cup. “One more small pour for this side, little one.” Ollie’s tummy felt fluttery, but his paws knew where to go. The water slipped over the left side of his head. A drip reached his cheek, not his eye. Dad dabbed it with the towel. “I stayed,” Ollie whispered.

Dad reached for the shampoo spot above Ollie’s forehead. A tiny bubble slid loose. It wobbled near Ollie’s brow like a shiny bead. Ollie’s paws twitched. “It’s coming,” he squeaked. Dad lowered the cup at once and caught the bubble with the corner of the towel. “I’ve got your eyes,” Dad said. Ollie let out a splashy breath.

Dad folded the towel into a soft little wall. He pressed it gently across Ollie’s forehead, above his eyes. “Tell me if it feels too poky,” he said. Ollie blinked under the dry edge. “It feels like a cloud fence.” Dad smiled. “Cloud fence ready?” Ollie nodded and found the ceiling light again.

Dad dipped the cup, but Ollie saw it fill high. His tail gave a worried slap in the water. “That is a big wave,” he said. Dad looked into the cup. “You noticed. Let’s make it smaller.” He poured some water back into the bath. The cup sounded lighter when he lifted it again.

This time Dad poured slowly, near the back of Ollie’s head. The water made a narrow river through the foam. Ollie kept his chin up, but one paw curled tight. He noticed it and opened his paw flat on his tummy. “I’m still here,” he whispered. The suds slid away in milky swirls.

Only one foamy patch stayed behind Ollie’s right ear. Dad showed it to him in the small mirror. “This island needs one careful rinse,” Dad said. Ollie made a tiny face, then pointed to the towel wall. “Eyes first.” Dad set the towel in place. Ollie breathed in, then tipped his chin up.

Dad held the towel wall snug and soft. “Ready, little one?” he asked. Ollie looked up at the ceiling light and gave one small nod. The cup tipped. Water whispered behind his ear. A tickly line ran down his neck, and Ollie’s shoulder popped up. “Cold spot!” he peeped. Dad stopped at once.

Dad dipped the cup again and tested the water with his fingers. “This one is warmer,” he said. Ollie touched the towel edge to check it was still there. “Tiny river,” he reminded. Dad poured a thin stream. Ollie counted the soft plips in his head. One, two, three. The soapy island shrank.

Dad showed Ollie the mirror again. No white foam hid by his ear. Only wet fur lay flat and shiny. Ollie blinked under the dry towel. “Did it go?” he asked. “It went,” Dad said. He squeezed the washcloth, and clear water dripped back into the bath. Ollie’s tail floated quiet as a ribbon.

Dad lifted the towel away and patted Ollie’s forehead dry. “What comes next?” he asked. Ollie looked at the blue cup, the soft towel, and his green bathrobe waiting on the peg. His fur felt drippy and heavy. “Robe first,” he said. “Then one quiet cuddle.” Dad opened the robe wide.

Ollie stood on the whale mat while Dad wrapped him in the green robe. His clean fur smelled like warm bubbles. “We did eyes first, small river, robe next,” Dad said. Ollie leaned into the cuddle. “Shampoo is still splashy,” he told little one softly, “but now I know what helps.”