Dog's Bad Haircut

So we had to resort to cutting our Yorkie dog’s hair. It went south in a hurry. My daughter and I started by grabbing a big clump of hair and cut it, but by the second clump we couldn’t help but notice how horribly uneven it was coming out. So when the one side looked really bad, like a depraved shag carpet from the 70’s, we had to try to do the other side so he was at least symmetrical. But when it came to his legs, each one wound up with different length fur coverage. Each time we tried to “fix” it, we just made it worse. By the time we were done he looked like he’d been in a fight, and lost. We were afraid of trimming his nether region and maiming him, so we just left it. That kind of made him look like he had a full body mullet with business trim in the front, party in the back. At one point, Russ put an important work conference call on mute and said, “What are you guys DOING to him?” We told him just look away. When we were done, we said to Cooper, “There you go buddy, all better!” He knew it wasn’t all better. Based on our uncontrollable laughter and the stares he was getting from Russ, he knew it was definitely not better…and the birds and squirrels were going to laugh at him on our walks we keep dragging him on every day. He didn’t even need a mirror, deep down inside he knew it was bad. Later when I opened the front door for Thomas after he switched the cars around in the driveway, Cooper was hiding behind me where I couldn’t see him and he sort of sling shot his way out the door and ran like he just robbed the liquor store. I guess even Cooper is sick of being cooped up and misses a professional haircut. When I yelled to him as he tore through the yard and reminded him that he doesn’t want to be seen in public, his “homemade bowl cut shame” made him turn around and high tail it back into the house. He temporarily forgot he looked like we prepped him for boot camp for the criminally insane. At night when I was on a zoom call with my family, Russ had a beer in one hand and Cooper in the other. My 6-year-old niece Gabby asked, “Is Cooper drinking?” He would if he could, Gabby. He would if he could.