A post should appear every Sunday

Sunday June 18th 2023

A couple of weeks ago I set to with the trimmer and remove a lot of Hairy One’s top coat. At least, it looks a lot – a sackful at least, I reckon.

Then I am away again, up to Yorkshire. It’s only six days later when I pick  her up from Ray’s, but she still looks as wide as an unshorn sheep, you’d never know I’d trimmed her, and she’s still dropping phenominal amounts of hair everywhere.

And I mean everywhere.

There are small wedges of fluffy undercoat on my clothes, on every raised surface and on the floor. There are numerous free floating bundles of top coat on everything I pick up; they are decorating my underwear, nestling in my shoes, and gallivanting across the floor. Single hairs find their way into my eyes, up my nose, and even leer at me from the surface of my freshly made coffee. I drink fluffy lemonade and eat hairy toast.

Something has to be done.

So every day this week I groom Isis. She is not impressed, and attempts to make a dash for it every time I kiss her head and tell her what a good girl she is – silly me – but apart from this she is very co-operative, patient and uncomplaining.

“There we are, dear. Just a little soft brush. Nothing to worry about. Now we’ll have a go with this brush. Good girl. Oh dear, there’s a little tangle. Sorry sweetheart, I didn’t see that one. We’ll have to tease it out careully with our fingers. That’s better. Oh dear, there’s a tiny knot. We’ll soon snip it off with the scissors.”

I begin with a two hour session on her face, head, ears and chin. When I take her to Kings Heath Park for a walk, head gardener Dave says she looks like a cartoon dog. He’s right. She does. Her eyebrows are short and spiky, the dangly hair on her ears reduced by about two inches, and the previously unkempt fringes around her mouth and chin neat and smooth.

The following day, beginning with the nape of her neck, I trim away the copious fluff beneath her ears, and brush her until the comb runs through it without impediment. Then I proceed down her back, making little horizonatal partings, lifting up a swathe of hair at a time and then reducing its length by about two thirds.

To me she looks even more odd now, her head and the first four inches of her back being smooth and neat, but bordered by massively hairy shoulders, sides and the rest of her bad hair day body.

Why does Human  percy cute me? Yes, that’s what I said, percy cute. Every day no sooner have I settled by her feet in the front room, and she’s had her coffee, than she unnzips my grooming bag and begins to a salt me. All her weppons of tor cha are in this bag. I can smell them  as soon as she moves the zip. And I no wot thay all R. There’s my lovely, soft, baby brush. She always gets that out first. It’s gentul and cumfutting, and sumtimes she puts it on my head and pulls it down my back and along my tail. Mmmmmm, it’s lovely. Do it again.

But this week she only uses it to lull me into a fors sens of sick-you-rittee. She soon puts it a side and gets out the little stiff brush. I don’t like this. It’s hard and brutul. I can feel it going threw my coat. If it gets cort in a tangul, it pulls and hurts me and I have to growl to worn her. There’s long, tangulled hairs on my frunt legs, and she’s dragging this horrable brush threw them on purpuss to hurt me.

I can feel her wiggling her fingers into the handul of the sizzers. I hate those nasty sizzers. They’re cold and danjerus. I can feel the metul blades sliding into my hair. Qicklee I lie down and tuck my leg under me. She carnt get it now.

But she rams her fingers under my sides and heaves me back up again. The only good bit is when she stops, puts my collar back on, and sets me free. Then I race into my dog bed in the back room and wait for my treat.

It’s all too much for a dog.

To be continued ………………………….

Isis came from Aeza cat and dog rescue in Aljezur, Portugal. For information about adopting an animal from the centre, contact kerry@azea.org or go to http://www.dogwatch.co.uk.