A Terrible Thing Has Happened to the Dog

Every Thursday or Friday, I go to see Bernie.  She's my groomer.  She bathes me, trims my hair, cleans me up really good.  I don't particularly like going to Bernie's and having all this rigamarole done to me, but it keeps my lady happy, so you do whatcha gotta do.

This Thursday was no different (or so I thought).  My man took me to the groomer, and I heard my lady saying that she and the dog would be leaving soon to take him to his groomer.  I should take a moment to explain why he doesn't go to Bernie.  It's because Bernie refuses to groom him.  He went to her once, he tried to bite her, and she said, "Never again."  He really shouldn't have tried that with her.  She's really a sweet lady.  Anyway . . .

Now, a trip to the groomer doesn't really change anything.  This is me before visiting Bernie:

and this is me just got home from the groomer.

See?  No big deal.  What you can't tell by looking at my pictures is that right before I go to see Bernie, I get a little, how shall we say, b.o. (body odor).  A bath is the only solution.  So off I go every Thursday.  Now, the dog is another story.  Amazingly enough, he doesn't have b.o.  Only dog I've ever known of that didn't smell like a dog.  So, he only has to go to his groomer once a month.  You see, he has a different kind of problem:  TONS and TONS of HAIR!!! If he doesn't get brushed out regularly he gets mats (ooo, I hate mats) and when that happens my lady starts snip-snip-snipping.  And the dog hates THAT.  So this Thursday was the day, and off he went. 

Later that day, I came home and boy, oh boy, was I in for a shock.  Something  B. A. D. happened at the dog's groomer this time.  I actually stopped and did a double-take when I saw it.

It was like, oh my goodness, I don't even know how to tell you.  I feel so sorry for the big guy.  This has to be the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to him.  Well, I guess the best thing to do is just let you see for yourself:

Somebody really messed up with the scissors, if you ask me.  He looks horrible, don't you agree?  My man said, "Toby, what'd they do to you, boy?  You look like you left your pants at the groomers."  My lady thinks he looks like a lion, except for the fact that no lion I ever saw has all that hair on his front legs.  She says they should have shaved his front legs, too, if they were gonna do that to him.  Poor guy.

And he just acts like nothing has happened!!!!!  I've told you before, the dog has no sense of dignity whatsoever.  He looked at me like, "What's your problem?"

And just to prove my point:

I mean really.  If your back half looked like this would you be sticking it up for the camera?

I didn't think so.  Thank God hair grows back.  This has got to be some kind of award-winning bad hair day.

My Man Rescues Me Again

Food in a bag?  Please tell me no.

Treats in a bag.  Please, please, pleeeeeeeaaaaasssseee tell me this is NOT happening again.

Oh nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!  My bed!!!!  Now I   know my people are going somewhere, and so am I.  This can't be good.  I had a bad feeling when my lady brought up her suitcase.  That's never a good sign. 

First we delivered the dog to Michael Jones's house, so I knew he didn't get to go with them this time.  Then they took me to Bernie's.  But, thank goodness, this time they only stayed gone 23 hours and 45 minutes. (Bernie says dogs can't tell time, but we all know I'm not a dog and I certainly can tell time.)   My man  always comes back for me.

After I greeted my man at the door, I had to dash back inside to be sure Bernie was bringing my bed out.  Whew!  There it was.  All was good.  Then . . .

I realized the dog was in the truck.  Oh boy, why couldn't they have picked me up first?  Now he's gonna want to say hello with a snoop and a lick.  Oh, alright, I admit it:  I'm even glad to see that they've remembered to pick him up.  After all, Michael Jones has four!!! other dogs.  I could hear them yap, yap, yapping when we dropped the dog off at their house.  Yuck!  Then, we're getting in the truck:

and sure enough, there he is sticking his pointy snout in my face (and other places that shall remain un-named - gross!).  Then,

I check to make sure all my stuff is still in the truck, and it is. You see, all my man's and my business cards and stuff are kept in the truck.  We take them with us everywhere we go.

And finally, it's time to hit the road and get us back home.  Here we go, and of course, I got to drive.  Because, really, have you ever known of a dog driving?  Of course not.

And at long last, home sweet home.

I hope we're not going any where else any time soon. 

Now He's Done It

While lounging in the living room with my lady one recent spring morning (Man! I love it when she doesn't go to work!), she and I were both startled to hear my man yelling, "Vaaalerieeee!" (my lady's name). She quickly placed me on the floor and dashed for the back porch door. Well, that was super weird for two reasons: (1) We both thought he had left for work, actually heard him drive away, and (2) my man never, and I mean N E V E R raises his voice. So when he yelled her name, I thought, "Uh-oh. She must have really done something bad wrong! I better go hide." But I couldn't resist finding out what all the commotion was about. So followed her. Somehow she knew! She dashed right out the back door and off the through the porch door to retrieve - you guessed it! -

T H E D O G !!

And I could not believe my eyes!!!!! Here came my man, carrying the dog out in front of him as if to say, "Yuck, come get this animal before he gets me wet and dirty!"

That crazy dog had jumped, yes I said JUMPED!! through, yes I said THROUGH!!! the screen on the back porch to chase!!! my man as he drove off to work.

My man was N O T happy about this. You see, not too many months after my lady brought the dog here to live, my man put brand-new screening on our back porch. Then one day, a friend of ours showed up at the house pulling a trailer. Well, for some reason none of us will ever understand, the dog went berserck!!! It seems he has a "thing" about trailers because everytime one travels up or down our driveway he goes absolutely insane crazy! I've never seen anything like it. It doesn't matter who it is or what they're pulling, the dog absolutely freaks out about trailers. And my man pulls trailers a lot. He's a very busy, hard-working man. Sometimes this trailer:

Sometimes this trailer:

or the lawn-mower trailer, or any kind of trailer.

The porch screen is quite a bone of contention (get it? bone? dog bone? shape of the dog's treats, not mine, though, because obviously, I am N O T a dog) between my man and the dog. The dog tore up both corners of the screen right after my man had just put that new screen in. Now, two years later, my man is still threatening to replace the torn screen and says that the dog can no longer go out on the porch. Every time he says this, I think, "Ha ha, dog, you're gonna get put in your place!" The dog

L O V E S going out on the porch. He hangs out there every time he can. He even asks to go out there all the time.

As I've mentioned before, the dog is . . . well, a dog. If it looks like a dog, smells like a dog, sheds like a dog, and behaves like a dog, you guessed it! It's a dog. What more can we expect.

Now where was I? Oh yes, relaxing in the lady's lap.