Granddog Ivy had gone to the canine coiffure the day before she and her peeps visited us and frankly, Dearly Beloved and I weren’t sure what to make of her new “do.”
Sometimes her grooming has left her fluffy and other times she’s been shaved to waif-like thinness. This time, she had a fluffy tail, shaved body and a pouf topknot which came off looking more like a permed mullet.
She seemed more reserved than she has on earlier visits. Only during walks did we see signs of her usual enthusiasm. Even our daughter thought that Ivy seemed a bit depressed.
(What was it about that hair style? Shirley Temple? Roseanne Roseanna Danna? Aunt Pittypat? I couldn’t put my finger on it.)
I e-mailed a picture of Ivy to my British pal. She wrote back immediately that, “the dog looks like a real floozy.”
Really? Look at that melancholy expression. It says, “I’m a sensitive, pensive adolescent.”
Does it say, “floozy”? I think not!
Ivy’s lack of zest was so obvious that even Miss Piggy, who usually considers the granddog a pest, seemed sympathetic. She made a real effort to get closer.
After Ivy returned home to her peeps, I continued to worry about her. Worried, that is, until I received an e-mailed photo from my daughter. I couldn’t believe it was the same dog!
The subject line: “Ivy and her boyfriend.”
Good grief! My friend had a point!