He’s not known for his cleanliness.
He hates baths, trims, and eats cow poop like a drug addict in the bathroom at work, anxiously feeding his habit while hoping to God no one catches him.
Since his curly unkempt hair is a magnet for burrs and ticks, I figured it was time to take him into the groomers. He was overdue about, oh, three years, so it seemed as good a time as ever. Country Man and I have both tried our hand at cleaning him up, but he puts up one heck of a fight and leaves us choking on hairballs for the next two days.
When the groomer asked me what how short, I said the shortest cut possible.
So short that I can see the ticks before they’ve morphed into that disgusting green blood-filled jelly bean shape.
Good luck! I said, heading to the local bakery for a donut and coffee.
An hour and more donuts later, I came back to find a new dog, decked out in a kerchief.
I asked her how he did. Not very well, she said. I gave her a five dollar tip and grabbed my dog, looking like the parent with the naughty kid and even I couldn’t deny it.
I know who he is. I accepted it a long time ago.
Maybe this new look will be the beginning of a healthier, cow poop-free lifestyle?
Actually, I am pretty sure he is thinking of cow poop right now. Aren’t you Milo?
You betcha you are. Planning to reward yourself for this ridiculous photo session I put you through, on top of the grooming and the scarf. And that I flipped the scarf over to make it look like a bonnet. I couldn’t help myself.
Well, the groomer can only do so much for a dog and his person.
Just hope he thinks of me mid cow poop feasting, remembering he is burr and sticker free.
Actually, I hope he doesn’t think of me while doing that…