If she’d let Dad hook us up to the internet, we could just look it up.

Because it’s Sunday, it takes her a few moments to get through to an emergency attendant. Then she jots down some notes and puts her hand over the receiver. “Naomi, can you get the hydrogen peroxide, please?”

I look around at all the boxes she and Aunt Cathie packed already, wondering where it could be.

“On the top shelf of the medicine cupboard. We left that stuff for last.”

By the time I find it, she’s started filling a pail from the tub faucet. The water bubbles up. “Dishwashing liquid,” she explains to me. “Now baking soda.” She shakes some in. “Pour in the peroxide. That should be about right.” The whole thing fizzes like a chemistry experiment. “We have to shampoo this all over Diesel and leave it on five minutes.”

I stare at the bubbling water. “Is it safe?”

“It may tingle. We need to keep it out of his eyes. You get him, I’ll get some old towels.”

Following the smell back to my room, I find Diesel, head on paws, deep beneath my bed. I am not coming!

“You have to!” As I reach for him, he backs away. I get the broom from the kitchen and gently nudge him out, but he gallops off. “Mom, grab him!”

“Where’s his collar?”

“We threw it out. Too stinky.”

She manages to grab his scruff when his feet slide out from under him. “Diesel, come!” she says, and she drags him over to the tub.

Together we lift him in.

He tries to climb back out.

“Stop, stop!” I push him back.

“Gonna have to buy you a new collar on top of everything,” Mom grumbles.

“Morgan might have one. Left over from her dog, King.”

“Hmph. You know, every time this dog gets wet, he’s going to smell bad again.” Mom dumps some of her anti-skunk brew on his fur. “Can you hold him steady?”

“Morgan asked me to a sleepover Tuesday night.”

“Morgan this and Morgan that. I thought you couldn’t stand her.” Mom scrubs at Diesel as he shuffles around in the tub.

Ow, ow, ow! He ducks his head every which way to escape the suds.

I shampoo and massage him, too. No way I can stop him from moving.

Suddenly, his shoulders begin to shift. I must get the stinging bubbles off!

I know what’s coming. “Cover your eyes!” I yell.

Diesel shakes. Hard. Suds fly everywhere. Onto my face, my arms, my shirt.

While we duck, he makes a break for it.

“Let him run awhile. I’ve set the timer for five minutes,” Mom tells me as she mops up Diesel’s mess.

I nuke a wiener and slice it to lure Diesel out from under the bed a second time. It’s no use.

That hurt. I don’t like pail water. Saucy baths taste better.

“I’m sorry, boy.” I reach my arm under the bed as far as it can go and let him have the treat.