First let me start by saying, we have our own vocabulary in our house. So, even though I sleep in a "crate" we NEVER call it that. We call it my "house"; 'cause you know, that's where I live...
So, rather than me going to "get groomed" I go to the "barber shop" ('cause you know, I'm a boy. Boy's go to barber shops. Girls go to the salon...) And, when I go to the barber, I don't get a "pedicure" I get a MANicure ('cause you know, I'm a man)...
(Ok, now that we've covered all the lingo, I can tell my story.)
Today I went to the barber and got my toes done. Then end. (naaah- I'm just kidding!)
I knew something was up by the way mom put the collar on me...and then grabbed the leash-drawer-handle...AND PULLED! I was so excited I could barely walk straight my butt was moving from this side to that side, and back again!
Mom loaded me up in my collapsible car seat (which, if you don't have one...you need one. Safety first.)
And then, we drove! I love driving with mom. And listening to music- we always go somewhere fun, and that makes me smile. Or, maybe its not always "fun" as much as getting to spend extra time with mom...and she always gives me lots of cookies to keep me "calm".
As soon as we parked the car I was ready to go in. I love going to the barber shop (which is also the toy shop...and the grocery store for me...) I got to meet a four month old Boxer puppy! He was so small!
Then we walked into the barber shop. Here's the thing, we have a love-hate relationship. I love the way I feel after I hate being there. (Mom even asks the barber to "call when he's about 10 minutes from being done- I'll be here to pick him up right away- he doesn't like to wait...")
Its not that I'm impatient. I'm just, well...I'm a people person, and when they put me in a box in the wall and ask me to "wait for your mom", well, I might have ACCIDENTALLY messed myself one time. ONE TIME and now mom wants to be on speed dial when I'm there so I don't wait...
So after they exchange "the best number to call", I hang my head in shame past all the other dogs whose mom's aren't on speed dial and make my way to the bathtub.
After they brush, and shampoo. Trim and clean...they called mom and then, they did the unthinkable. They put a bow on me. AS IF my mom on speed dial wasn't bad. They put a BOW on me! Oooh the misery.
Thankfully mom and I speak the same language and as soon as we were at the cashier, mom asked to borrow a pair of scissors. Love that lady. Mom's got my back.
And so, for the rest of the day, I laid in the sun, enjoying my new squeaky clean coat and trying to forget that I ever had a bow on me.