• Posted on:May 21st, 2008
• Comments:No Comment
• Category:Not Poodles

My grandmother fancied herself a barber. She gave my uncle many bad home haircuts involving a Flowbee and a Tupperware bowl.

I would rather you drop turds in my coffee than tell me that I’m starting to take after my grandmother. Love her as I may, there are plenty of traits (which I will not go into detail about here) that I’d rather not acquire as I age. I always told myself that I would never try to cut my childrens’ hair, unless I was personally planning on stuffing them in a trash can, right after I gave them a wedgie and a swirly. And hung their underwear from the school flag pole.

We live in a one groomer town, and with a packed schedule, Abby isn’t on a regular schedule with the groomer. Her fluffy puppy hair is starting to get curly like her brother’s, and her coat was getting matted, due to playing outside in the garden and infrequent brushings (bad owner!).

I knew I needed to trim some of the excess coat. Armed with nothing but scissors, a comb, and a half bottle of bourbon, I started snipping. Surprisingly, she sat like a good girl and let me cut her hair FOR OVER AN HOUR. I’m doing my best to keep her away from mirrors for a few weeks.

I’m kidding about the bourbon, but after seeing the results, if it’s going to help her with the humiliation, who am I to tell her no?