I learned a lot of things about Grady fairly quickly – that he was quirky, had a bizarre sense of humour, and would eat anything that did not hiss at him. What I did not realize for the first while was that he is a…sensualist of sorts.
The first clue should have been the way he likes to scratch his chin on almost any hard surface including the top step, the edge of my desk, the toe of my sneakers, etc. He enjoys it almost too much, then primed with the endorphins or whatever else is being secreted in his little pea brain, he runs off, grabs his flying monkey toy and flings it at my head.
The next tip off was the way he behaves when groomed. It’s not just the leaning in to me, or rolling around in ecstasy and throwing himself into my lap, it’s the moans that make it sound like he’s been reading the doggy version of 50 Shades of Gray.
But my eyes were really opened when I, figuring my lap can only take so much rapturous wriggling, decided that the lovely Lori O’Hara and hubby were going to get the honour of bathing him. Well, see for yourself….
Not only did he moan, his eyes glazed over and he almost toppled out of the tub. The more she rubbed the glassier his eyes got. He could barely walk when he got out, and if it meant getting any further from those magic fingers, he wasn’t going to move an inch. I think he’s brought me her business card at least once a week ever since.
He’ll just have to do with the chest massages he gets at home, that are still enough to reduce him to a quivering mass of hair and slobber. Unfortunately, his partner in perverse humour, my son, feeds his addiction. And then he expects me to continue this thrilling pastime. Good luck with that Grady.