No Time to Pee

What a day I had Friday! It was grooming day and I looked so bad before I went that I wouldn't even let Mom post a picture of my pre-cut body. Let's just say it wasn't pretty. This photo (below) taken afterwards isn’t so good either. Oh, I got a good cut but I was not a happy camper. I was mad as hell.

I was at the groomers for three hours and no one would let me pee! I'm old; I need to do that more often now that I'm on heart medication. They'd pick me up and carry me here and there---the bathing tub, the blow-dry table, the cutting table, the waiting cage---and never once did my feet touch the floor. Even Mom, when she came to get me, carried me out to the car. Well, every dogaroon knows you can't pee in a car but the minute Mom set me down in the garage, I just let it go. And did I go. I created the Yellow River of No Return.

Speaking of garages, my folks brought home an interesting essence last week. It was the same smell as that wonderful black creature with the white stripe down its back that roams through our yard sometimes at night. I call that a nice barking opportunity and every time I give her the hi-nice-to-see-you-again bark she treats me to her perfume.

Last week, I was all around and under the car looking for my black and white friend, my mom yelling at me the whole time to get away from the vehicle. For two days every time I'd go outside and pass through the garage on the way to my fire hydrant I'd take a side trip around the car. The third day my folks took the car away and it came home smelling like soap suds.

Someday I'll tell you about how I came to get my own, personal fire hydrant in my backyard. ©
.

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