Parrot Puppy

When I was young they nick-named me 'Parrot Puppy' because I had a habit of running up people's shirts to sit on their shoulders. To this day I don't understand why that made everyone laugh. I could see the world better up there and face licking was so much easier. I learned that trick the first time I went to the groomers. Those clippers scared me and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that I couldn't jump down off the table without hanging myself but I sure could crawl up and sit on her shoulder. For some reason, the clippers couldn't get to me up there.

I've had the same groomer all my life---15 ½ years---followed her all around town. It took me the longest time to appreciate the finer points of getting a haircut and I gave that woman holly hell in the meantime. My mom says the foo-foo shop she works at now is too expensive at $45.00 plus tip but she won't make me leave Marcia. For years, mom and dad said it wasn't fair to Marcia to change groomers after all she had to put up with in my early years. They used to say that Marcia looked like she'd been through a war after cutting my hair. One time it really wasn't my fault, though. I had to poop and she wouldn't let me off the table!

When I got to be around six-seven pounds my mom went on a mission to clip Parrot Puppy's wings. It was quite a test of wills but I eventually let her win because crawling up on shoulders was getting harder to do, being the growing boy that I was. But I didn't forget the skill. Sometime I'll tell you about my run-in with a monster cat. ©

Photos: Before and after my first haircut

Mother's Little Helper

I get into so much trouble and half the time I don't even know why---like today. My dad had diarrhea and since he's wheelchair bound, he didn't have enough time to make on the toilet before it hit. Mom got him in the shower and was trying to get Pop's poop cleaned up off the floor and the wheelchair but she's so inept that she got it on her sweater sleeves and everywhere else but the ceiling. Boy, did that smell good! I was happy to be in the room.

Then mom took the gel pad off my dad's wheelchair and leaned it up against the wall and I thought, "Oh, boy, she's going to let me help clean up the mess." I was licking away while my mom showering dad's butt off when she saw what I was doing. And instead of praising me for being such a good little helper, she yelled at me! What in the world is wrong with that woman? She's too old for PMS. She snapped off her rubber gloves, telling my dad she didn't want to get poop on me as well---as if I'd care, it smelled so good!---and she grabbed me by the collar, making me leave the bathroom.

So now I'm pouting in my bedroom-slash-the laundry room and wondering why she didn't use the 'S' word even once while all this was going on. I don't understand the subtle nuances of when and when not to say the 'S' word. Mom says it all the time, but she tells Dad he can't. ©