Itchycoo Park...

The dogs went off to the hairdresser again yesterday for their regular cut and blow.  Reg had obviously been up to his usual Austin Powers 'Yeah Baby' tricks when the trimming of the naughty bits were done, as his rear end resembled something which an eggy Apache might have done in a fit of pique.  I've renamed him Chief Sitting Gingerly and I would imagine that the next few days are going to be rather chilly around his nether regions, followed by itchiness as the hair starts growing back.  Poor little devil.

Driving back from the groomer, I decided to drop into the dogs' favourite field for a run (them, not me - there are many things which run in my house, such as noses and tights, but never my feet). Percy minced around the field, avoiding anything which might detract from his gorgeous baby powder smell, while Reg dropped and rolled every ten paces or so to rid himself of what he considers to be an affront to his manhood.  

I'd love to know what goes on when they are there.  I've been told by someone in the know, that there are seven stations which a dog goes though to reach the giddy heights of 'clean'.  I've tried as hard as I can, but can only come up with the following:

Wash fur

Dry fur

Cut fur

Clip claws

As to the other three, perhaps they have the same as I am offered at my hairdresser.  A head massage, a back massage and a cup of tea.  All I do know is that they are always very pleased to see me, although marginally more pleased to see the door which leads to the car park and freedom.

I reckon that they are like any teenage boy, with a complete aversion to cleanliness.  I used to say that my two were only ever really clean when they were swimming, ie, being dipped into a mild bleach solution, and when I come to think about it, one of them showered in his pants for his whole first year at a new school, telling me when he got home that he'd showered at school and therefore would not be requiring a pre-bedtime bath. Of course, I believed him, and it wasn't until one of his teachers approached me asking if my son had a 'body image issue' that I realised what was going on.  What a conversation that was...  

So my dogs look very smart.  Percy looked distinguished right through to bedtime whereas Reg looked like one of those school photographs where your mum has spat on your hair to smooth it down at the last minute.  As the afternoon wore on, unruly tufts sprung out, and it wasn't long before he was back to his normal toilet brush appearance.

Much the same as when I go the hairdresser's actually...