You guys would all laugh at me giving my monsters baths. I put on VERY loose, old clothes that I don't mind ruining, cloth sneakers that I can throw in the wash, get a stack of old towels, and put my hair up - sometimes in a shower cap!
We try not to do baths in the winter, as the house only has a shower and an outside bath just isn't an option (unless we're having some of our weird weather, like the Christmas it was 78 degrees), but when you have extra large, very enthusiastic and adventurous herding dogs, cattle, and lots of mud that's not necessarily caused by rain, well, you can imagine . . . but you'd probably rather not, and it would probably fall short of the odiferous reality anyway.
Okay, now imagine a 140 pound dog in a shower in a very small bathroom. Did I mention this would be a very reluctant, 140 pound dog? An extremely wiggly, strong, very reluctant 140 pound (or more) dog?
And will someone please explain to me why a dog who is perfectly happy - make that euphoric - to jump in a pool and stick her head under the water to snort and blow bubbles thinks that getting clean is tantamount to her own personal Armageddon?
Now, imagine that the bath is over, everyone is soaked, everyone smells like wet dog, but at least it's a clean wet dog smell, and ONE of us has an eye that is red and burning from flea soap and a nose full of tickling dog hair, but the dog wants to shake, rattle and roll all that excess water into synchronous orbit in the outer atmosphere. From a very small, cramped bathroom.
Now, there's at least one more filthy, reeking puppy to wash . . .