Long time readers of The Tales have followed the trials and tribulations of CJ the Dog. If you haven’t, the Cliff Notes version is that CJ doesn’t like getting his hair cut. He also doesn’t like the mailman or anyone else that walks, bikes, or drives past our house. And he doesn’t like anyone touching any of his stuff. Stripes reference. But I digress.
So for various reasons, we made our way to an appointment with Groomer #7 on Monday. Groomer #7 is a nice lady who does dog grooming in her home.
In less than five seconds of meeting this nice lady, CJ tried to bite her. Keep in mind, we were in her house. Undeterred, she asked if I would pick him up and hand him to her. In my mind I thought, “Please don’t bite me. Please don’t bite me.” I figured that would look really bad if he bit me, and thus harm our chances of a haircut.
But then some divine intervention took over, and as CJ wiggled around in her arms, he had a look in his eyes that he finally realized we were running out of dog groomers in the phone book. And with that, they descended the stairs and she told me to come back in two hours.
The longest two hours of my life. Except for the time I sat through “Joe Vs. the Volcano.”
Anyways, when I picked him up Groomer #7 said he had been a perfect little gentleman and said we could come back in three months.
As God is my witness, I tipped that woman more than I’ve ever tipped my own hair groomers. But to my credit, I’ve never tried to bite any of them.
Thank you for all the thoughts and prayers.