She used to be my best friend....

My portly Chihuahua (the one and only) Jersey girl suffers greatly when the temperature rises here in humid ol Michigan. Her fur is thick and long and the extra poundage she carries around (no thanks to me, I don't feed her from the table) doesn't help.

As a good mother, her comfort and well being is of upmost importance to me. For years I've been debating about getting her groomed.

Daddio and I were duped some years ago when we adopted Jerz from a reputable (??? umm, sure) "breeder" in Jackson. We'd been looking for a chihuahua ever since Googie decided she wanted to be the girl from Legally Blonde and had to ( just had to) have a small, fawn colored dog to put in her purse.

We've had lots of comments about Jersey' girth lately... we've also had quite a few about her "heritage".

"That dog is not all Chihuahua" we've been told a time or two.

"She's mixed with sommmmething" they like to say.

That kind of crap really pissed me off... she haaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-s "papers".

Well, not really. 

The shady lady breeder never sent them.

You've probably heard the story of how we'd planned to surprise Bear with a dog for his 12th birthday. He'd been pissin and moanin for years ("caboose child syndrome") that the other two (much more favored) children of our home had been gifted with numerous pets (dogs, cats, rabbits, and a couple of other critters) and he'd only ever been allowed to be in charge of a bubble eyed fish (he named Flip) who went belly up after just a couple of days in his care.

He wanted a big dog, one he could ride around the backyard.

After much consideration (all for myself, selling points like small poop, baths in the kitchen sink, and thoughts of Googie's accessorized purse) I found him a wee pup that looked like a miniature deer. Certainly he'd fall so in love with this darling girl he wouldn't notice she wasn't a Huskie or a German Shepard.

What she lacked in size she sure made up for in cute and personality.

The first couple of years we had her I'd be surprised by the amount of hair that came off her body and stuck to things like my furniture and my guest's asses.

As Jersey has aged she's gotten even hairier... and a recent search of Google Images has confirmed what many have called her...part Pomeranian.

Pomeranians have lots of hair.

Even with the seasonal hair loss, poor Jersey still suffered greatly under the weight of a heavy hair suit.

I've been searching for a good (read cheap) groomer.

And by goodness, I found one.

The groomer agreed to take us on Sunday evening, around dinner time.

I wasn't going to be choosey about the day or time, it was last minute and she was "fitting me in".

Jersey was so excited to go for a car ride, her reaction caused a bit of guilt on my part, as I knew she'd be freaked out by the whole grooming thing.

The address where the groomer's shingle hung was a (rather dirty and dingy) "new" pet store in a neighboring town.

The groomer turned out to be a young (chatty, chatty, chat chat chatty chatty)....girl, clothed (she confided) in her husband's black Metallica t-shirt, a mixture of worn appliqué and a colorful array of animal hair and fur. 

Ewwww.... 

I put a very scared, shaky Jersey up on the table and the girl asked me "what kind of haircut do you want?"

Whatthefrick...?

Do dog cuts have names...?

Give her the "Benji" cut...

Or the Clifford bob?

The Cujo clip...?

Cut the damn dog... 

"Cut the dog whatever way you think the dog should be cut..." I instructed.

 DUH .....

She began using a set of hair buzzers that hairdressers use (I have a pair at home) and the guard she put on wasn't cutting enough. I asked her to get a tighter one.

She did and took a huge chunk out of the hair on Jersey's back.

As she progressed, the haircut was looking choppy and you could see weird lines in Jerz's fur. 

Not the look I imagined....

"Ohhh" she said trying to explain the odd clipping around her the scruff of my baby pooch's neck...

"with this big roll of fat here" (she said pointing to Jerz's neck) it's not going to clean up real well" she told me.

(ohhh brother, blame the fat dog for the crappy do)

When the hair debacle was all done it was time for a bath.

The groomer treated Jersey to an anal gland milking and encouraged me to watch.

It was one of those times when you don't know whether to shit or go blind... I couldn't watch, yet I couldn't look away.

We've both been scarred for life, I'm sure. 

During the bathing my poor dog had her ears pried up off her body. She endured cleaning crap squirted deep inside them. She had her face roughed up, and her eyes nearly wiped off the front of her face...

WHAT A FREAKIN AZZ CLUSTER...(and I was sooo responsible for it all)

Jersey didn't take her petrified eyes off the traitor that brought her to this horrible place... and the traitor's heart broke (in more than a million pieces) as every moment passed.

An old laundry basket held a pile of towels, the girl grabbed one off the side (it was wet as hell). When she saw me evil eye-in it (AND HER) she thought better about using it.

"I need to find a clean towel" she said as she left the room.

With her spirit appearing broken Jersey shivered in the large, stainless steel sink.

When the girl came back she was carrying a rumpled t-shirt in her hand. It was to become a makeshift towel to dry my dog.

When she pulled out a shop vac to finish the task I almost lost it....

For as long as I allowed, she blow-dried Jersey with the cold air the vacuum forcefully blew.

When I cried "uncle" she said.."wait a sec, one more thing" she then tied a cheesy (silky paper) BLUE ribbon on my female pup.

"Awwww, look at that handsome guy" the cashier said when I went to have her service rung up.

We made our way slowly to the parked car, my wet girl and I, her blue bow sagged underneath the uncooperative fat patch on her neck.

Upon seeing the pictures of Jersey post grooming my dad suggested that she lay low (stay in the house) for a couple of weeks so the neighborhood dogs wouldn't laugh at her.

Yes, (inquiring minds may want to know)  I DID PAY FOR THIS ATROCIOUS, MONSTROSITY  MASQUERADING AS A GROOMING...the girl was nice, and appeared broke, and put us in on a Sunday evening for cryin out loud.... (oh eff it...ever hear of Stockholm syndrome ?)

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...

Well the sky fell a bit, but nothing like the Chicken Little weather forcasters here in Michigan said it would.

Figures.

Who cares... I have a snow day and not a damn thing to do...unless you count cleaning, laundry and some serious television watching.  other stuff that I'm sure I can find around here to do.

Looking out the window this morning had me thinking of all the fun the kids and I used to have on snow days.

I miss them being little...what I don't miss is seeing them pull out of the driveway with snowboards strapped to the hood of their car and thoughts of how their pearl colored bones would look sticking out of the skin of their (used to be) perfect legs when they slipped off those horrible boards and took an unexpected tumble down a  huge mountain of snow and ice.

Head first of course...

Be still my beating heart...(dos days be over).

The Sweet Prince Buttercup experiencing his first big snow.

No, this is not Randy ("he laid there like a slug, it was his only defense") from A Christmas Story...it's darling Googie, ready for the hills. She just oozes pink, doesn't she?

Where the hell are these poor children's hats and gloves? 

(It was all a ploy to get them back into the house faster.)

Bear and his snow parents.

Okay... times have changed. My babies have grown and the couple still hanging out in Daddio's and my nest have no interest in playing outside in the snow with their mommy...what does a former Entertainment Committee President do with all that extra time on her hands on an official snow day...?

Why she takes her other kid out to play...

As you can tell...we had loads of fun. ;-)

But, I don't really like dogs...

This post is a themed writing project challenge taken from Jenny Matlock over at off on my tangent.

Jenny says we can use UP to 100 words to tell our story. It can be fact or fiction. Jenny posts a few words, a prompt that we work from. This weeks prompt is in bold itallics.


It was the 11th Anniversary of...

my oldest turning 7 when she came. At first she fit in the palm of my hand, later in a fanny pack I wore when I cleaned house. An effort to keep from stepping on her while she followed me around. She'd curl up and sleep in that pack like the baby she was and I felt needed once again. A ball of fawn colored fur, Tootsie Roll eyes, white feet no bigger than an inch on a ruler, my four-legged baby. A Chihuahua, Jersey Girl. Otherwise known as...the perfect cure for a heart soon suffering Empty Nest Syndrome

50 going on 12.....

I'll admit it. I have the maturity level of a tween when it comes to my sense of humor. I laugh so hard I almost pee my pants when I watch shows like MTV's Boiling Point or that goofy new Silent Library. In case you don't indulge in that kind of absolutely pointless television viewing and have no idea what I'm talking about I'll give it to you in a nutshell.

Silent Library has 6 college age kids sitting around a table. They have a shuffled deck of cards laid face down on the table in front of them. They each draw one. Five of the cards are safe. The unlucky one who draws the sixth card is given a challenge.

The challenges are each more gawd awful than the last. The group must not make too much noise while the challenge is being completed. The person who is completing the challenge must not yelp in pain, nor gather any attention when they gag or vomit and the other five can't laugh too loudly.

If they complete the challenge and don't disturb the other library patrons they earn money.

Some of the stuff is really gross and honestly a real true grown up would not watch for more than about a minute before changing the channel.

Me, I sit perched on the arm of the couch and cackle till I almost go over the side...I've sat that way through two or three episodes in a row without realizing that I've just spent an hour and a half watching some kid complete the Foot Bowl challenge, eating soup out of an old man's stinky shoe,  or the Sweet Red Corn challenge in which the player has 30 seconds to eat a lipstick covered corn on the cob.

Seriously, I do have better things to do.

Like hide in the pantry and lay in wait for Daddio.

Or turn all the hot water off when Bear is showering.

Or put makeup on the dog...

Which made me laugh so hard that I did pee my pants (thank God for Depends).

Then I started thinking that she looked like someone....I racked my brain trying to think of who.

Which got me laughing even harder when I finally figured it out.

I called the pooch Nora all day long and I could hardly contain my excitement waiting for my family members to notice her pretty new eyebrows.

Bear went all grownup on me and got mad claiming he could tell the pooch was suffering from a great indignation at being the butt of my joke.

He made me clean her up.

Grownups...they ruin all the fun.

*(Hey...just in case your bloomers may have gotten in a bunch thinking I hurt my precious pooch I want you to know that I used a very soft makeup brush and she sat there like a good girl and let me do it...so no animals were harmed in the process.)

Houston, I think we have a problem....

"Psssst, hey...you up there"

"Excuse me, yooo-hooo....down here"

"Pardon the interruption , it appears I have a

 rather large problem and desperately need your assistance"

Of course....now I get it...

Please don't think we starve this pooch (she eats like a Doberman).

I've nicknamed her "Brickhouse". She is a perfect rectangle.

She's a quick study, taking lessons from the kids.

Using the broken record technique and her big brown eyes.

And I become putty in her paws.

And really, can you blame me?