****Update: Murphy was a prince among dogs. He was washed, clipped and buffed. The Man arrived to pick him up and the women there were just singing his praises....Murphy must get that sunny attitude from his momma*****
So often The Man and I will drag up an old memory that was not funny at the time, but hysterical now, and chew it over.
That happened this morning when we realized that Murphy needed to go to the vet for his second set of shots. We also need to get him groomed, cause he's looking a little shabby.
So as I sat drying my hair, The Man and Murphy were sitting across from me in the livingroom as we were yelling back and forth about what needed to be caught up on. See, it's his day off. The Man, not Murphy, so he tries to help me catch up on everything. Poor guy.
In a lull in the conversation, I thought aloud about how I hoped Murphy didn't shame us like Frankie did.
Once upon a time.....there was a Frankie. Franklin to be exact. He was our first little housedog. Princess was 3 and The Man had just returned from the war (that had just begun) and it was during our re-nesting period that we decided that we needed a little house doggie. Enter Frankie. The cutest little black tiny poodle you've ever seen.
He was evil. The meanest little son of a b9tch ever born. We were assured that the reason he was for sale was because the owners needed to move into a non-doggie approved property. Lying arses. He was the devil.
He hated me. He hated Princess. He hated to go potty outside, cause it was much easier to go in the livingroom or under my bed. Arse.
However, he loved The Man with a very unlikely loyalty.
So when it was time for his first grooming, I sent The Man with Frankie to the groomers.
He dropped him off and then left to go run errands.
They called twice. First because he wouldn't settle down and they were going to try again but were unsure if they could get to him. Second, because he bite them (as in bite everyone trying to hold him down, all 12 lbs of him) and The Man was needed ASAP to pick the b9stard up.
So The Man came home with a half shaved dog. OMG.
I came home and took one look at that thing and sent them both to the balcony, with clippers, a towel and I locked them out there until the deed was done.
Now our balcony of our really nice complex looked over the parking lot of a liquer store. Um, hello California, that is not uncommon. Better that than a strip joint, right? So during this episode, a police car pulls into the parking lot and out step two officers. Who upon hearing the dog awful cursing and doggie screams echo-ing from my balcony, hone in on what is going on. Then kick back on their cruiser for the show.
This just made it worse. The Man had lost all patience and when I happened to walk by the balcony doors, the sight of black fur flying through the air shocked the crap out of me. I opened the door, BIG MISTAKE, and in comes a almost but not quite shaved Frankie, spreading black curly hair near and wide in my house.
It took three months for the rest of his hair to grow back.
It only took three days before The Man spoke to me again.
Sadly we had to give Frankie a new home a month later when we were moved into a military housing that didn't accept dogs. Darn!
Please Lord, Please let Murphy be docile and sweet at the groomers. I honestly do not believe The Man has it in him to go through that again........
Amen.
