I went (actually, I was taken) to one of those chic hair grooming places on Lexington Avenue. I knew instantly that I was in (as President Bush 41 would say) (and it's probably appropriate for me to say) deep doo doo, when I was carried into this place. My then long hairs stood straight up and I knew I was not in for a pleasant day ... I just knew it.
Very expensive thingies all around for us dogs; the finest outfits, the prettiest bags, the most decadent treats, everything to make us and our humans think this dog world is probably too good for us dogs ... but I'm diverted ... it's a place where you would think I would want to hang out, but I got this really strange feeling and tried to tell Herself in my various ways like trying to squiggle out of her arms to make a hasty retreat but no, she held on tight.
A very long explanation followed from Herself to the groomer, who came out from the back room to get instructions and get me. I heard Herself tell her what length my hair should be cut (not short just shortened a bit), how my face should look (clean around my eyes with other precise details), yes, it was alright to cut my topknot, watch out for my tummy (I get scratched there easily), and then Herself repeated it all again. "Ok" "Sure" "I got it", this not-for-primetime-grooming groomer said and off she carried me to the back room. I squiggled and wiggled and whimpered but to no avail. I was stuck and not happy and, worse of all, not sure I would ever see Herself again. Would she come back and rescue me? (She just stopped typing and translating this down for me and said "Oh Mystical, don't be so silly.")
You know, reliving that day is already so exhausting that I need to lie down and nap ... so I'll continue this story in another post.
Suspense will build about what happened in that back room with that 'I-just-learned-how-to- groom, groomer'. I'll leave you hanging while I nap...
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