Before Tom was married, he lived in the Sierra Nevada mountains. The land of tall trees. After a business trip, he went to the vet kennels to pick up his dog, George. The receptionist brought him out a dog and he left. He got to the car and thought George had gone senile while he was away as the dog would not obey any of Tom's commands. Tom finally loaded up the dog and headed up the highway to his home. The dog was acting strangely. Tom couldn't figure out what was the matter with George. Then Tom looked at the collar. The dog was not George. A quick U-turn had Tom speeding back down the mountain. As he entered the vet's office he heard a howling and the sound of toenails digging into wood floors. George knew Tom had been there so this time George wasn't going to let Tom leave without him.
I use to look at Tom and ask, "How could you pick up the wrong dog?" Tom never had an answer. However, when we take Izzy to the groomer it would be easy to pick up the wrong dog. I always say, "Izzy is that you?"
Shaggy is in.
Izzy's face says she is ready to take on anything.
Bring it on.
Izzy is a trooper. She braves power doors, elevators, and tries to imitate Katrinka, her German Shepherd "sister" who passed over, by barking to protect me. The problem is she likes to bark from behind me. When Katrinka was alive, Izzy would stand under Katrinka to bark at strangers.
Izzy goes the the groomer looking like a ruffian. She is shaggy and looks ill-kept. When she comes home I am never quite sure she is the same dog. For one thing with her hair trimmed, she looks like she is half her usual size.
She looks so small with her hair trimmed.
Look at that well trimmed nose. She looks ready for a dog show.
Her feet are so small after trimming. They no longer look like snow shoes.
As the song goes, "I'm so pretty, I'm so pretty.......
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