How does a boy get so scruffy? It’s so darned hot here in Philadelphia, hotter and humid-er than anywhere else I’ve ever experienced. I am not a happy boy. The daily soakings before, during, and after the daily walkies just aren’t cutting it anymore. I am a COOL DUDE, why don’t I feel cool?
Oh yeah, that’s right. Mama doesn’t cut my hair. She has always handstripped me. Not my most favorite experience ever, but it usually gets the job done and keeps me looking good. But these days I have become a bit overgrown, am starting to resemble a fuzzy black-and-tan hedge, so something really must be done.
Apparently mama has been freaking out about my upcoming hairecut for some time. Slowly I watched the packages arrive with new implements of beauty and torture in them. I saw her reading booklets with tiny type on how to use these tools of impending handsome-ness. She has been really worried because I have never had this done, is pretty darned sure that I am not going to let anyone else do it for her (yep, she’s right on about that one), and she doesn’t have anyone else to help out. NO PRESSURE MAMA
We have the tools. We can reshape my fuzziness. Make me into something more resembling a classic Dale than a tumbleweed.
And yes, there was some collateral damage. That kind of thing happens when your mama is chasing you around the apartment waving a wildly vibrating clipper towards you. I have found that it is best to keep her moving, try to tire her out, so that she is forced to complete the rest of your hairecut with a small scissor not made for this very purpose (yes, it’s hilarious). She will indeed get tired, and you will not have to have that damn clipper in your face (or on your fine chest or upper back).
TA-DA! HANDSOMENESS!
Yes, I am now amongst the ranks of clippered Airedales. I have fuzzy velvet where just fuzz used to me. And don’t tell anyone, but I KINDA LIKE IT
It definitely makes my butt look smaller. Not that I thought my butt looked big. Not that I care if my butt looks big. But yeah, I do have a nice, firm boy-butt, so why not show it off?
I am really happy that mama decided to pretty much leave my beard and stache alone. These have won awards, people! Don’t mess with perfection!
Yep. AWARD WINNING
Indeed, I had my misgivings going into this saga. Mama wielding a big scary tool. Me winding up with bald spots. Her trying to TOUCH MY DAMN PAWS (sorry Mama, but NO ONE TOUCHES MY PAWS).
But you know what? It really is growing on me. After I got a good brushing to get off all of the little hairs that were driving me crazy and making me itch like blazes, it does feel kind of nice. Cooler. A little more sleek.
And I am quite pleased that I didn’t let Mama near my fine neck with that damn clipper. Sure, she had to work about 100 times as hard to slowly cut off all of the thick ruff that I had been growing for many years around my neck, but she actually didn’t do a half bad job. Looks relatively even on both sides, no weird mad-scientist things sticking out anywhere.
Another body shot so you can see my fine shape…
Nice, eh?
Even nicer – BEEF PIZZLE – that made it all worth it (ok, almost worth it).
What do you mean we’ll be doing this again? We have to do it again? Really? You mean this doesn’t stay like this forever?
You’re gonna have to start investing in those pizzles now, Mama.
No really, I mean now. Get out there and begin the restocking if you expect me to sit still for this on a regular basis. I’ll just wait here.
Love,
Bogart
