The Haircut

“You hairy dog, time for a haircut.” Duncandog is a Portuguese water dog so grooming is a must. Otherwise within 8 weeks, he looks like a four-legged “Cousin It.”

He doesn’t seem to mind going when I tell him he’s going for a bath…probably because it is time away from the house...and Kat is so boring. Over the past 10 years, he has smelled everything in the house and is especially tired of the Lemon Pledge scent. He wants to get out in the world…smell some new smells.

So I put Duncan in the front seat of the car…and the car bell dings the whole way. The car doesn’t know my chubby dog is riding shot gun. (Duncan, you gotta loose some weight if you are gonna continue to sit up front.)

When Dunks gets to the groomer’s place…he immediately stiffens up and puts on the brakes. He remembers… “Oh yea, Mary the groomer…she’s one tough son of a bitch. This isn’t going to be such a great time after all.”

The haircut is a power struggle...and Mary wins every time. Alpha Duncan always tries to get the upper hand, but before he knows it…Mary’s got him in a choke hold...and he’s crying, “Uncle Rin Tin Tin, please save me.”

I pick Duncandog up and he looks like a long-legged skinned rat…which isn’t very nice to say after spending 8 hours at the beauty parlor. He can’t even ask for his money back after getting an embarrassing hair-did. And he is embarrassed. The upside of his new do is, we can actually see Duncan’s eyes (now petrified)…and he can actually see the door that he keeps running into.

I decided to put myself in Duncan’s paws. I can feel his humiliation. If I ended up, after 8 hours in the salon chair…with a shaved head, choke-hold marks on my neck, no money back guarantee, holding a wicked pee…I too would not be happy.