The whimpering you hear is mine. This day has not turned out as I thought it might. And when I say "thought it might" I mean I figured that I'd wake, annoy Stacie, go outside (maybe...it's cold) and pretend to pee, come inside and really pee, and get my day underway. What I didn't expect that I was going to go for a car ride (hooray!) and that it would end at Puppy Love (uh-oh). And, when we went in, well, I have to tell you that I was mortified at how I looked. I think that a girl should be told when she's going to the beauty parlor so that she has a chance to do her hair the night before, maybe put on something flattering to her coloring...you know, the usual. But, this visit was sprung on me without warning, so I wasn't surprised when Debbie told me that I was a mess. That I should be brushed more. That I shouldn't wear that sweater with the peace sign that I love and I think is cool. She made me feel like a dog, if you'll pardon the expression.
But, that wasn't the worst of it.
It appears that my - um - grooming wasn't what it should be (I must admit, that the number of knots I seemed to develop all over my fur was nearing world record proportions, although I wasn't able to communicate clearly enough to have someone call the McWhirters for me). I fancied myself a canine Rapunzel, albeit without a tower to be stranded in. My flowing locks were the envy of all who saw them, and part of me suspects that this "Debbie" was among that group. No matter. Her prescription was to take a shaver to my delicate fur. Eeek! Well, I don't have to tell you that the late morning and early afternoon were terrible for me! When they took the shaver to me...well...I haven't seen that much fluffy white stuff fly around since..since..since the last snow storm. I was shocked at how much they cut from me.
And, before I reveal the "new me" to you, let me give you a moment to sit down, maybe make yourself a cup of tea or Sanka so that you don't get stressed from the caffeine. Maybe have a nice warm bagel with a schmear. Okay. Ready? Sitting in a comfortable place. Here goes.
So, did you faint? I know, I know, it's a bit of a shock. I don't even recognize myself, and I know it's me inside that short hair. But, on the other hand, looking this way has given people the opportunity to come up with sweet nicknames. I was told that I looked like a chicken. I was called a rat. I was told that I looked like a Mexican hairless (accompanied by an a capella version of "Mexican Hat Dance"). Well! I think I look quite chic. I know that my coat will grow back just as nice as it was...better even, since we'll do a much better job with the brushing.
And, I'm going to get a new coat, one with a lining that won't stick to and mat my fur. I wonder what color we'll get. Red. Or greeen. Or bluuuuuuuue. I can't wait.
Well, I must rest now, and try to forget about the many stresses and loss of tresses (yes, I write poetry, but that's for another day).
Yip, Yip, Yip, Arf
Izzi
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