True confessions this morning. After an hour + long process of dealing with my dog yesterday, I can tell you—I am in the right profession. Or maybe even more so, I am realizing I am not a dog groomer. Like not at all.
Brinks honestly thought she had given birth. And by the way she acted, you would have thought she was giving birth. Cutting out matted pieces of hair, nipping and running away, growling at the brush. It was quite a scene. And she still can’t see. Because I would have lacerated an eye trying to cut around her face.
After it was all said and done, a miserable bath in which Miss Drama Queen gave me the best drowning re-enactment possible, she really looks homely. No fur around her neck and eyes still hidden.
We do take her to the groomer. We love our groomer. Brinks does not. And quite honestly, I am too embarassed to take her as she is. Therefore the hour + of misery yesterday. And we are left with this.
Making an appointment today.