The dog and I had haircuts last week.
Miss Piggy had a grooming appointment here at the beach. That was a first for her, since we usually have that done in Charlotte. We’d taken her to a vet here for a recent ear infection and decided we needed to give their grooming services a try. Miss Piggy didn’t get that nickname just from her appetite.
Our dog has issues: itchy skin, moles, an errant nail that grows into her pad if not cut carefully, and anal glands that runneth over–thus bearing out DB’s assessment of her contents. He bases this on those sacks of… um… poo the size of her head that he brings back from their walks together.
After her Charlotte grooming sessions, Miss Piggy struts out proudly with a colorful new bandana around her neck and a report card with A+ and a string of smiley faces. Miss Piggy’s grooming conduct has always been exemplary.
When DB picked her up after her appointment here with the new groomer, she looked really good. Possibly her best haircut ever. BUT, when he saw her report card, DB was horrified.
“B”???? You gave her a B on conduct??? How can that be?”
“Well, she had an independent streak and didn’t like me messin’ around with her feet.”
He was still fretting over the grade when he brought her home. I think he’ll expect me to bake cookies or something next time to induce a little grade inflation.
The day after her haircut, I drove back to Charlotte for mine–200 miles. It may sound strange for someone who lives in sweatpants and considers wearing a bra “dressing up” to say this, but I would sooner find a gynecologist on Craig’s List than to let a stranger with scissors near my cowlicks and wandering part.
I came back the next day–in pants AND bra, mind you–feeling quite snazzy with my freshly done “do.” When I took Miss P for a walk around our neighborhood, one of the neighbors on another street stopped her car and leaned out her window.
“Hello, Mary. . . hello, Miss Piggy! You look BEAUTIFUL!”
I smiled modestly.
“DB told me to make sure I complimented Miss Piggy on her new haircut.”
Just wait ’til he sees HIS report card.