Canine cuts and shivering Spoodles

Recently I had what was possibly the blondest moment of my entire brunette history.

With the temperatures rising (or so we thought) and Charlie resembling more Siberian Yak than perfectly groomed pooch, I booked him in for his S|S13 cut.

The day arrived, and with 20 minutes left to get him wash, cut and blow dry ready, I left the house and headed off into town. With time on my side, the sun shining and a friend on speakerphone, I merrily made my way into town in an unhurried, stress-free manner.

Sitting at the final set of traffic lights and preparing to pull in and park, I told the friend I best be going as I had to get the dog unloaded and ready to roll. It was then that the realisation of my total and utter stupidity hit home.

As I turned around to look in the back seat I remembered the single most important component of the outing: the dog. The same dog that was currently sitting on the other side of the gate at home, happily gnawing on a treat in the midday sun.

The words “drat, damn and bother” – or something meaningful to that effect – sprang from my mouth. The phone (with friend still laughing) was hung up and the car turned around. The dog groomer was called and warned of Charlie’s impending lateness; I could sense eyes rolling. My husband was called and warned off my impending lateness for lunch; I was greeted with further laughter and called a numpty.

Unsurprisingly the journey there and back again was neither unhurried or stress free. Every slow-driving, law-abiding road user in Norwich was now out and hogging all available lanes in front of me.

Charlie greeted me with a look of surprise and alarm as I screeched across the gravel, oiked him over the gate and threw him into the passenger seat faster than he could enquire whether he was going somewhere nice – which was just as well really as he wasn’t.

Unfortunately, since having his summer ‘back, sack and crack’, the weather has turned and summer is quite clearly not just around the corner. So while we certainly appreciate having a clean, sweet-smelling dog to stroke in front of the TV at night, in hindsight, Charlie could have probably done with those extra few inches of matted fur to keep his slender frame warm in this chilly May wind.

To make amends for this premature shearing, I’ve resorted to turning the heating back on, wrapping him up and allowing him to practically take up residence on my lap at every available opportunity.

It’s a dog’s life indeed.

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