POOR LITTLE BITCH-BOY...

I have a somewhat unhealthy love affair with my pup - Scooby. I've never felt such a connection with another creature, Alexander Skarsgard excluded. 

There he is, MY Alexander. Who ever could he be looking at, you may wonder? Well, its not you. Let's start with that. Now that we have that out of the way, I can tell you who he's looking at. "Who???" You may still be wondering. Well, I'll tell you:
He's looking right at me. Deep into my soul. So back off haters!



There he is, waving at me again...

Internally, I'm saying: "Baby... (what I call him) your smoldering good looks have me. You know that. Let me get back to blogging. You'll get a lil sumthin-sumthin after I'm done."

Back to my other favorite creature: Scooby. I recently wrote a blog post on how he came to be. You can check it out here.  

Scooby is like no other dog. He's perfectly house trained, with a record spanning over 6 years of no accidents, or as I like to call them: 'times daddy doesn't love you'... I joke because its true. He's my everything - accompanied by the world's strongest bladder. Scooby's older than death. His birth records suggest that he approaches 14 years old this year. I gage his years in relation to Joan Rivers' face. If you were to count the rings from surgeons signing off work on her face, we could equate a nip and tuck to every years procedures. Joan's probably on her third Asian face of 2013, so essentially I'm just saying Scooby is old as fuck. He's also deaf. You can lift his little ears to experience a true wind tunnel simulation. He's blind in the left eye and in his old age, my Scooby veers in every which direction when going for a walk. His nose, however: can smell the remains of Cheetos in your pockets from weeks ago. (Why you wouldn't wash your pants is beyond me...) My dog is a whore for food. He smells it a mile away and will be anyone's friend for a potato chip.

Despite this friendliness for food, one thing that rings true with Scooby is his lack of interest in anything outside of me. My pup worships the ground I walk on and I wouldn't have things any other way. He will let me do just about anything to him, but baths are a taboo subject. I often have him shaved ever few months at the groomers, so as to escape the horror of giving Scooby a bath. Cavalier King Charles Spaniels are normally regarded for their long luxurious coats, but Scooby's a dust rag and the equivalent of an elderly person in an old age home. They don't need there hair styled perfectly anywhere more than they need naps and saltines. Needless to say, Scooby is not a fan and while not overly aggressive, he will look you dead in the eye and suggest: "when will the senselessness end?? Why must you abuse me this way??" I'm sure the groomers feel like Michael Vick upon the first drop of water that lands on his back. I know I do.

This all being said, it's been really difficult scheduling an appointment for him at the groomers as they're short staffed as of the moment. Scooby's had some traumatizing experiences in the past where he's been cut paw-down, had his belly sliced, and received an infection of the eye due to shitty practices. For that reason, I stay at the local spot, but it's expensive, I'm broke, and I can't get an appointment. The last time I went to pick Scooby up from the groomer, Gwen Stefani's insanely attractive nanny was there picking up their dogs, kids in tow. Now, when I can't get an appointment at the groomers, all that comes to mind is: "Fuck Gwen Stefani". Simply. "Why's that bitch always getting her dogs groomed??" Somehow, she is now the problem.

I started getting it in my head that Scooby could benefit from a cut at home. I asked friends, intending to use my beard trimmer for Scooby's portly lil body. I was told they would not be strong enough. It seems I needed industrial clippers. Well, I didn't have them this past Sunday evening and decided to get crafty. (Not to be confused with 'the Beastie Boys' song 'She's crafty'. Crafty-artsy and creative, not crafty-slutty. That's for another blog...) I reached for a pair of scissors and grabbed Scooby in hand for a clip and a rinse: or so I thought...

Firstly, he was not happy. I experienced two plus hours of a dog looking back at me like I've been murdering his puppies in front of him all while beating the life out of him. In reality, it was me and a pair of scissors - simply. I began to cut chunks and pieces of hair, convincing myself it'd look great. "Friends are going to ask you to groom their dogs' too. They'll be shocked you did this with scissors alone." I kept exciting myself internally, while externally I was making a mess. My entire bathroom was covered in hair, my dog was pissed, and he began to grow restless. Still, I hadn't even scratched the surface. Dogs have multiple coats of hair and Scooby has hair for days. Feeling discouraged by the lack of results, I decided to throw him in the tub and cut him wet. Side note: I didn't really throw him in, just a light toss. Think of softball...

Wet, dry, it didn't make a difference. This was going to take hours to make any headway. It wasn't working, but it was already done. The harm had been done. The proof was in the tub. As I set down my scissors, after two plus hours, Scooby was still wet and I couldn't tell how the cut worked out. I took him out for a walk and decided to let him air dry as it was over 80 degrees (Fahrenheit) outside. As he dried, I began to realize the horror that I had accomplished all by myself. My dog looked like a patchwork quilt. Together, we look like I should be living in a shopping cart on Santa Monica Blvd with Scooby in tow. He is a patchwork quilt, akin to something Britney Spears would have worn to an awards show in the 90's.

I'm sorry Scooby, you poor little bitch-boy.
Your daddy's the worst... PETA's going to be calling me any minute now...



This picture does the cut no justice. In person, it looks like chunks and spots are missing of his hair. #epicfail

Thoughts or opinions?