OK-let me tell you how I ended up with a back full of dog crap. It’s summer, it’s hot out, and I have a pair of clippers and two very hot, shaggy, hairy mutts who are shedding so much balls of hair are just rolling across my carpet like tumbleweeds.
Looks like it’s time for some action.
So on a clear, lovely evening like today I set up a blanket in the backyard, pull the extension cord over, hide the clippers behind my back and call to my larger dog in the sweetest voice I can muster.
“Come on now, sweetie. Mama’s not up to anything, ” I coo encouragingly.
She wanders over, in a reluctant, ducking, eyes averted type of way like she’s been caught eating out of the garbage. She’s looking at me from the corner of my eye like I’m about to plunge a giant needle under her fur. How can she possibly know I’m up to something already? Perhaps it’s that weird intuition dogs have, like when they can smell cancer. Or maybe it’s the cheese-eating grin on my face. I don’t know.
Maybe my dog is psychic.
Anyhow, she gingerly sidles up to me and plops her big old butt at my feet, opening her mouth in a nervous pant. Pieces of fur flee from her body and cling to my face. I take the blade from behind my back and begin giving her a rump scratchin, inching the blade closer and closer to her fur.
She doesn’t appear to notice me being up to anything. Good. He he he…
I inch the blade up into her fur and receive no reaction. This is going to be EASY, I’m thinking to myself as I hunch over her, poised and ready to flip the switch.
She jumps up so damn fast and backs up she actually does a backward somersault over my body, knocking me flat while instantaneously raking her toenail across my face. She bolts and skitters away from my blanket just to plop her fuzzy butt back down on the ground and drag it a good six inches, panting mightily.
I’m flat on my back and half-laughing, half-pissed, the clippers buzzing in a repeating circle somewhere in the grass.
My dog is howling at me excitedly, hunching down in prance mode, ready to play.
I’m still lying on my back, my cheek throbbing from her toenail’s assault. I’m sure it’s bleeding as it stings pretty bad.
Good job, girl.
I reach above and over my head to grab the shaving clippers, still humming grandly. I click off the switch and instantly my dog beelines for the back door, plowing it in and taking refuge in the bedroom.
I get up off the ground, heaving a massive sigh.
Pound, tomorrow! I’m disciplining her since she’s not there, heaving insults at my dog with my mind.
I’m laughing, though. Did I really truly expect her to sit through an entire shaving? I mean, the dog jolts at the sound of gum popping.
Stupid dog momma.
I rub my cheek in remembrance of the pain I’m still feeling in my face. Little stabbing heartbeats of stinging shock. Grr…
That dog got me good.
I prepare to go inside but have to wipe the dirt off myself first. The pine needles out of my hair, the grass off my pants…
What is that smell?
Wow, either a dog just farted or I am standing seriously close to one of my dogs’ deposits in the yard. Geez, that’s strong. I look around and find nothing, pick up and check my shoes for signs of poo stomp-age. Nothing.
But YUCK! I can still smell it! I better not go inside until I figure out where that smell is coming from, because it’s like it’s right under my nose. I need to clean it up.
I start wiping down the front of my shirt, scrunching my nose up at the odor. Leaves tumble to the ground. I begin wiping the debris off my back. Hey, what is that wet stuff?
Oh, my God!!!
Yes, siree. I have a back full of dog crap. And it’s all smooshed in there GOOD.
You can bet your furry booty I won’t be shaving my dogs again. I think first thing in the morning I’ll book an appointment with the groomer.
I think my dog is still laughing over it. Yep, she got me good.
Shaving Your Dog
Displaying Shaving Your Dog.