There, It's Done

Worse thinking about it than doing it. Past time, however. Our little dogs needed a haircut. That was more than obvious by the simple fact that each and every time we take them out for a ravine walk they return from the outing hosting on their coats more than we bargain for. Detritus of all kinds; but what's far worse is that with the hair on their paws having grown so long, they pick up pitch from the pines and once they've that on their paws, everything else clings to them.

Like those little hairy bombs; miniature thistle-like objects that refuse to be handily plucked away, and minuscule stones that fix their way down into their tender pads. When we bring them back home they get dipped into a sinkful of warm water to dislodge all of this mess, but it isn't always completely successful, try as we may.

So it was time for a haircut, and while I snipped away at the paws, there was always those unruly bits of hair growing around their eyes and their lips. And if I did those, then why not pay some attention to the rest of their bodies? So it turns into a laborious and sensitive task, one they dread, and so do I.

The alternative is always to take them in to a pet salon, and neither they nor I care to do that. We've heard of too many horror stories. We possess blunt-nosed tiny scissors for the interior of their ears, sharp, short ones for close work on face and paws, and longer scissors for the body work. Not to mention clippers for their claws.

Oh, how they suffer throughout the process. I've got to chide Button, our 15-year-old black poodle because she tends to struggle throughout,incensed at the attack on her dignity. Seven-year-old Riley, an apricot toy, rather abundantly overweight, though he eats a fraction of the food Button does, is far more biddable, although throughout the process he alternates between fear and dozing.

Finally, they're both done; each in their turn they scamper away from the scene of the hair-massacre, making themselves scarce, lest I relent, deciding they are not, after all, free to go, and each requires an additional bit of snipping. It has happened that way, but not today. It's a hot day, and I figure since they've had their hair cut, they could also use baths.

And so we prepare for their bath, filling up the spare-bathroom tub, assembling their shampoo, and towels and finally hunting them down. Button, a lover-of-water, is pleased at this turn of events, while Riley shivers in apprehension, his tiny body lost in the large space of the tub. They're bathed, and vigorously scrubbed as dry as we can manage, and they rush off to rub themselves further on the area rugs.

Now all that's left is to collect their towels and their bedding, and give everything a good, hot wash. They look more than slightly presentable, and we're certain they also feel a lot better, cooling off and looking at life from a renewed perspective.