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Trip to the Dog Groomer's

I didn’t realize when we got our little Yorkie Terrier that we needed to take him to the groomers often, otherwise his facial hair grows to the extent of completely covering his little eyes. I had never taken a dog to the groomers before, so I did not foresee what kind of circus that entailed. Originally, I tried to cut his hair myself, but he has somehow mastered the bob and weave of avoidance quite impressively, so one of us will get hurt with the scissors for sure. Most likely it would be me. I even tried a quick snip when he was dead asleep on my lap, but he must somehow sleep with one eye open because he turns away at the last second! I guess if my Mom tried cutting my hair when I was napping, I’d sleep with one eye open too. Fine. I’ll leave it to the professionals. But the car ride there is a complete work out because he loves the car so much that he just wants to jump from driver to passenger to passenger the whole time; it’s close to impossible to keep his excitement contained. If you’re not paying attention, he will stand on the driver’s lap and obstruct the view of the road, put his paws on the wheel and try to drive there himself. We finally got there and my brave, hyper dog turned into a nervous Nellie and just shook the whole time while crawling up my shoulder to hide his face in the back of my neck. He’s like a child at daycare where the groomer lady has to pry him off of me while he’s shaking as I offer words of encouragement like, “Have fun!! Be a good boy! See you soon!” They took him to a back room and I’m hoping some day I’ll see him again and he’ll survive this trauma! After three hours of guilty shopping while I’m wondering if he’s ok the whole time, I get the call that he’s done. It felt like I was going to the principal’s office where I was going to hear about all the horrible things my “child” tried to do when he was in spaz mode while I was gone. When I walked into the room I did not recognize my fluff ball dog, instead he looked like a shaved squirrel with a collar on that slightly resembled my dog….he actually looked like an entirely different species now. Without saying hi or a normal greeting, I blurted out, “Is THAT my dog? Cooper, is that you?” Sitting there was a trembling, cold, depressed, confused, super skinny, dazed, speechless, dumbfounded, stunned, troubled, quiet shell of a “dog” with trust issues now. He was even a different color because apparently his roots are a different color than his actual fur. I looked at the lady in disbelief and wanted to say, “Did you switch out my dog with a hairless mole or something, because he looks all of 2 pounds without his hair?” He was so happy to see us, and he legit passed out cold in the car before we even left the parking lot from the hours of what I imagined was a never-ending escape attempt for him. I was a little worried at times on the way home, asking him to “Stay with me Cooper, keep talking to me!” just to make sure he was still alive! We all survived that initial trip, and now we know what to expect each time. I think he actually likes going now and the attention he gets. At least that’s what I tell myself!

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