Now usually my mum trims me herself, makes me stand still while she cuts or sometimes – and I prefer this – works around me with scissors while I’m lying peacefully thinking doggy thoughts.
After the trauma
For a treat (for whom??) she decided to book me in for a professional groom. I won’t mention the name of the salon because I made a bit of a fuss and don’t think they will want me back. I was nervous from the start. Got to the door then realised this could be the vet, lino on the floor an all, funny smells, tables, oh ho; tried to back out but mum was having none of it. She gave her instructions – don’t want him shaved to the skin, want feathers thinned out etc – then LEFT. Left me all on my own with strangers in a strange place. Huh, I’ll show her, I thought!
She comes back after an hour by which time they have me in a see-through bath contraption and, not only are they spraying me warm water, they’re rubbing me all over with girly shampoo. That, after being frightened with a buzzy thing they used to trim me. It was AWFUL and I was whimpering pityfully; really, really traumatised.
My mum looked awfully guilty and said they should towel me off and I would walk home wet cos one thing I’m really scared of is the hairdryer.
She can’t understand why I will splash happily into the sea, a pool on the beach or a muddy puddle but don’t like anybody putting water on me. She should stand in the yard and be hosed down with cold water and see how she likes it! There’s no difference, she says. Huh.
Somehow I don’t think I’ll be going to the poodle parlour any more!
Dogwuff! 