Penny’s getting her hair cut today. This is one of those things, right behind the routine vet visits, that Penny absolutely hates. She never “verbally” complains, that is, she doesn’t bark, or throw a fit, bite, scratch, or anything my children might have done when they were younger, but she’s just visibly upset about the whole sitch. She’ll sit quietly in the van completely oblivious to her fate, enjoying the scenery, occasionally taking a moment to rest as we ride our way into the sunset, but when we arrive … oh boy. She’s just not happy.
The van door slides, she pokes her head out, and takes a good whiff of the air outside. Then it all registers in her pea sized brain, “We’re THERE. That place where they muzzle me up, chain me down. That place where I’m nothing but a number on a day-sheet. That place where they shave around my private parts, without so much as a curtain for a modest dog to hide behind. That place where dogs Don’t. Come. Back. Holy hell, SOMEONE SAVE ME!!!” She bears her paws down to where one of us has to pick her up. She trembles in your arms, and if she manages to free herself, she’ll run for the door, only to scratch at it helplessly. Poor pup.
Well, that’s what you get for not getting up out of your beany bag and giving yourself a brush on a regular basis. S U F F E R!!
Come back tomorrow to see the new, cleaned up and trimmed Penny when she debuts her new holiday “do”.