“Crap! Exit stage left!” I hear Bandit say telepathically.
Am I the latest Dog Whisperer to hit the blogosphere? Heck no! There’s no doubt what Bandit’s thinking when it’s time to go to his groomers. How on earth the little fellow knows it’s time to go, I don’t know. But know it, he does.
Bandit goes into hiding. He’s pretty darn good at it too. When he was a puppy, he used to hide under the bed. He outgrew that as soon he figured out I was smart enough to find him there. Yep, he tries new places every month. Behind the couch, under the coffee table, behind Steve’s boots and, my personal favorite, behind the toilet.
Eventually, I find him and that’s when he goes into his full on Drama Dog routine. He drops down, rolls over and gives me the most pitiful look he can. If he had a white flag, he’d waive it high. He gives Steve the “Say it ain’t so” pitiful puppy look. All to no avail as I promised Steve I would take Bandit to the groomers regularly if I could just bring the little fellow home to live with us. Yes Bandit, it’s all my fault.
All the way to his groomers, Bandit shakes which makes me feel like crap. I talk to him and play Baroque music to soothe his soul and take away his fears. It soothes mine a bit anyway.
The last time I picked him up, Bandit decided that the groomers’ doorway shouldn’t be painted white so he gave it a nice shot of pale yellow. While I apologized to the groomer, Bandit went back to check out his handwork and added another splash of color as it were. Exit, stage left for me this time.
Bandit was a happy camper all the way home. No more shaking and pitiful puppy looks. He couldn’t wait to get home to see his Daddy and get his Good Boy treat.
It struck me how fast he got over the trauma of the morning. It made me see that most times, fear is useless and that the very thing you fear may result in a good hair day.