Looking at that picture you would think that my dog was a sweet little thing. My arse!
She's next to me now and delighting me with silent farts that smell like Irish Stew that's been left in a pot for a couple of weeks during a particularly hot spell. It's her way of attracting my attention since she's forgotten how to bark now she's expecting a telegram from the Queen. 105 in dog years is not bad going for a West Highland Terror from a grubby pet shop in Epsom.
Becuse she's nearly blind, tone deaf and troubled with arthritis I decided to treat her to a home haircut instead of sending her off in the Dog Pound van to the Pooch Parlour. She looked dead scared the last time so I felt really guilty and made a promise to her not to send her there again. I found this great Mobile Dog Groomer on the internet and booked her an appointment.
The big day arrived. I think she knew something was up cos I brushed her 3 times that morning so she looked a bit decent for when he arrives. The 3rd time she'd set a trap and I caught the brush on a fresh clinker hanging from her tail.
Right on time this huge van arrives outside my house. I spend the next 20 minutes watching nervously as Mr Mobile Dog Groomer attempts to park this monster truck into a regular parking bay between my neighbour's cars. After a few close shaves with bumpers and headlights I decide to rescue him and offer him my neighbour's car keys to shift her car across the road. She'll never know. Another 15 minutes went by with him gradually edging closer and closer to the car in front. He can't find reverse
OK so now we have to get my friend's car back to where it edged from. It's not a big car so it's quite easy for the 2 of us to move. Trouble is he keeps turning the steering wheel too much and now we're all on the pavement. Me, him and the frickin car. Back and forward we go until eventually we get her car back in position and now with enough room for him to have another go at parking his van.
I stand there sweating with my eyes screwed up, hoping he misses next door's new BMW. 45 minutes in and we're good to go.
He opens the side of his van to reveal a big blue bath, a grooming table and a strong whiff of Bonio. Actually as he's chatting to me I discover it's him that smells of Bonio. I think he might have had a snack en-route!
With everything set up I dive inside and gently wake up the little angel. She looks befuddled as we go outside and then farts on my t-shirt as I'm struggling with the door latch.
I leave her in Mr Bonio's capable hands and get back to work. 2 minutes later I hear this blood curdling screech coming from outside. What the hell's he done to her. I run outside and stub my toe on the Recylcle Box. It was full too as they hadn't collected for a bit due to that Council strike. Hopping to the van I can see her shaking like a leaf on his grooming table. 'She doesn't like her nails being clipped, does she' he says. I didn't know cos I'm never usually there when she's being 'done'. No wonder the old place used to call her the The Screamer!
I hop back indoors and cringe through the next 19 clips as she screams and yelps. It sounds terrible so I close all the windows and doors to try and block it out. I can still hear her so I shove my iPod on and have a burst of The Shapeshifters while she endures her torture. Next thing the 2 old biddies from the corner house are out and having words with Mr Bonio. I decide against going out and telling them to shift their moth balls and piss smelling arses. He's humouring them and eventually they waddle off back and pretend to be trimming their hydrangeas.
Things go very quiet until an hour later the door bell goes as I'm changing the Jeyes Bloo block. I open the door and in she comes, dancing around like a little lamb. Mr Bonio looks worn out and his left eye is twitching.
That evening I'm off to the gym with my neighbour. We get in her car and just as she turns the ignition on she leans towards me and puts her hand under her bum. She's sitting on a dog biscuit...........................................
