Hot days bring out the beast in dog
By Mark Mayfield
My family has a very large, very furry dog named Mabel, who was apparently designed to survive sub-zero winters at the North Pole. During cool weather, she is a polite, well-behaved role model for our other dog, Haley, a mischievous Australian Shepherd/Labrador mix, who was once possessed by a legion of hyperactive dog demons from the fiery kennels of hell. (Thanks to Mabel's positive influence, Haley no longer steals money from my wallet or uses profanity in front of my children.)
But summer reveals another side of Mabel's personality. Her thick, year-round coat makes her miserably hot when the temperature exceeds 80 degrees. And when she gets hot, she gets thirsty; and when she gets thirsty, she drinks too much; and when she drinks too much, her inhibitions disappear.
After chugging several large dishes of water, Mabel becomes rude, disobedient and shameless. She shouts terrible insults at my neighbor's elderly dog, and she completely ignores my commands, including "Sit!," "Fetch!," "Speak!," and "Drive to the store and bring back some ice cream!" Worst of all, she makes lewd propositions to good-looking male dogs, who are more than willing to listen.
(Important aside for my fellow dog owners: I'm extremely concerned about the growing number of spayed and neutered dogs who apparently believe that their surgeries eliminated the dangers of promiscuity. Unconcerned about the possible consequences of their indecent behavior, these naughty canines are experimenting with the self-destructive "free love" philosophy that humans wisely abandoned after the 1960s. Please discourage such immorality by teaching your dog the virtue of abstinence and the importance of a lifelong commitment to one partner. You can make a difference. So talk with your dog today. Thank you.)
Hoping to curb Mabel's vulgar hot-weather behavior, my wife and I recently decided to remove most of her uncomfortable coat with an electric clipper we've used on several of our ex-dogs. Since my wife had some previous pet-grooming experience, she was the obvious choice to operate the clipper. Since I had some previous experience in providing unwanted advice and instructions, I was the obvious choice to supervise the project. I was also in charge of buying the antiseptic, bandages and painkillers that Mabel would most likely need before we were finished.
We began the job at 12:15 on a recent Sunday afternoon and soon discovered that our clipper wasn't capable of effectively cutting Mabel's formidable multi-layered exterior, which consists of a heavy top coat, a woolly undercoat, a rustproof base coat, and a high-gloss clear coat that eliminates the need for frequent waxing and polishing.
The inadequate clipper was creating an ugly pattern of uneven ridges, furrows and hair spikes causing Mabel to resemble '70s punk rocker Sid Vicious. My wife had to clip most areas over and over again to repair the damage, and a very long day seemed imminent.
At 12:42 p.m., I used my superb supervisory skills to politely tell my wife that she should occasionally clean and lubricate the blades to prevent overheating. I also politely told her that she had a large clump of Mabel's undercoat in her left ear.
That's when she lunged at me with the clippers screaming, "How would you like a haircut?!" I don't think she was kidding.
By 2 p.m., my exhausted, frustrated wife was covered with sweat, dirt, fur, clipper oil and dog slobber. To make matters worse, I spilled some iced tea on the magazine I was reading in my hammock. The day was becoming a nightmare.
After another hour of clipping, Mabel looked like a 100-pound rodent masquerading as a dog. Oddly enough, her mood was improving. She laughed, joked and even apologized for her drinking binges. She was obviously feeling much better about herself.
By 5:15 p.m., we were finally finished and Mabel was happy, comfortable and surprisingly frisky. The same could not be said about her owners. My wife's right hand was stuck in a clipper-gripping position, and I was physically and emotionally drained by five straight hours of supervising. Next summer, I think we'll just let Mabel drink too much.
Mark Mayfield (markmayfield@mindspring.com) still has nightmares about spilling iced tea on his magazine.
|
Los Gatos, California Since 1881
