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When we got back into town yesterday, we went to pick our dog up from the kennel. We were eager to see the results of his "day of beauty." He was to have been bathed, clipped, pedicured, and such. We told them to "make him look like an Akita." He strongly resembled a fat piebald tumbleweed, so finding an Akita shape in there would take some effort. We should have left them a picture of an actual Akita. He wasn't done when we arrived, so we went down and spent money at the CD store, then returned. When Casey emerged, the only way we knew it was really him was the ecstatic moaning. The little face was clearly his, but the rest had changed. When we said "Akita," the groomer heard "Mexican Hairless." Poor Casey has been shorn EVERYWHERE, even his face. His mutton-chop whiskers are gone. His big ruff is gone. His poor nekkid ears are enormous. His funky pinto markings are clearly visible, right down to his freckles. His tail is still fluffy, looking like a duster tied awkwardly to his bottom. My first impulse was to whip out a t-shirt and cover the poor mutt. He looked sort of undercooked. He strongly resembled Spuds McKenzie on steroids, or a pint-sized Great Dane. To add insult to embarrassment, he was wearing a cute little yellow bandana. He looked, well, a bit light in his loafers, if y'know what I mean. He's missing some masculine equipage, but he's always been a pretty macho-looking doggie. Not now. Casey the Pansy. Poor, poor woofer. In addition, he's still a grenade. The stress of kenneling set his recovery back a bit, and he's been having random bouts of explosive elimination. I learned the hard way (actually, the soft, squishy way) to watch where I step. I'm becoming expert at Extreme Carpet Cleaning. I've been shoving antibiotic pills into him and cooking him more rice. His bowels will recover, and his hair will grow, but until then, we have a canine Freddy Mercury on our hands. |
 
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Pansy Dog