Living in the Bathroom

I have a temporary dog. He is pleasant company, in a low-key, enjoys-sleeping kind of way.

Apparently, he even enjoys sleeping in the bathtub. I was brushing my teeth last night when he hopped into the bathroom behind me and regarded the tub. I watched in the mirror as he rared back slightly and then sprang into the tub, like a 3-legged yet graceful gazelle. And with just a desultory sniff around, he stretched out and took a nap.

I can understand that a little: when I was small enough to lie full-length in the bottom of a bathtub, I would. I'd drag the bathmat in there so it would be sligtly more comfortable, and just spend a little quality time surrounded by porcelain. Like the tub was a pre-installed, if austere, blanket fort. I wondered if it would be possible to live in there, reading in the tub all day, getting my water from the sink and my meals delivered to me through the window.

Dogs like forts even more than kids do. But the thing is, I have been at some pains recently to teach this dog that his crate is his cozy wee fort.
I fear that the crate now has a rival in the bathtub: both are calmingly fortlike. But he is somtimes confined to the crate when he does not want to be--which has never happened in the bathtub.

An eeevil person would change that by giving him a bath.

{Note from the future: It is six years later, and I now own this dog. He is this guy. Don't be alarmed at his extensive list of charges! He is an upstanding pillar of his community; for instance, he is a therapy dog emeritus. He took early retirement from this position because it turned out the main therapy he provided was the removal of crumbs from the folds in old people's clothing. This wasn't really what I had in mind, not to mention what the old people thought. Although he is no longer a therapy dog, he is talented at culinary spill remediation, amazing trick demonstration, and home and car intruder intimidation.}