Some dogs fetch. Some dogs hike. Some dogs do agility courses and compete for ribbons.
Hank and Lucy go to the spa.
March is the month we decided to lean fully into what Hank and Lucy have always known about themselves — they are not outdoor adventure dogs. They are not fetch dogs. They are not "let's go for a run" dogs. They are spa dogs. Robe dogs. Cucumber-water-and-complete-silence dogs.
And honestly? Same.
Spa day for Hank and Lucy means the full treatment. A warm bath. A blowout. A deep condition. And then — the moment they've been waiting for — the robes.
There is nothing on this earth quite like a bulldog in a bathrobe. The way Hank wears his, completely unbothered, like he's been expecting this level of service his entire life. The way Lucy settles into hers with the quiet dignity of someone who has finally been understood.
They don't ask for much. A soft surface. A warm room. Someone to handle the details. A robe that fits just right.
Post-spa Hank is a different creature entirely — slower, softer, somehow even more at peace with the world than usual. He finds his spot, tucks in, and does not move for the rest of the afternoon. Lucy sits upright in her robe for exactly as long as she wants to, then makes her own decision about when the day is over.
Self-care isn't a trend in this house. It's a lifestyle.
The kind of spa day Hank would approve of — if he could talk. He'd probably just stare at you until you drew the bath.
Lucy settled into her robe and said nothing. That was the review.