The youngest dog got a haircut today. Desperately needed, he was starting to look like the love child of a rastafarian dust mop and a gordian knot. So Liz sat down, shortened up his leash, and had at it with the scissors, electric trimmer and shop vac.

At some point the goofy mutt took a snap at the scissors as Liz worked, and got his tongue cut. Bled like hell for a while, and he drove Liz crazy as he wanted to give himself a bath, leaving himself a bloody mess.

That was all done and over with by the time I got home, or so we thought. As I cooked dinner, I looked down at the dogs and saw Trix sitting there in a puddle of smeared blood, one paw looking half chewed off. Once again, his "bath" opened the wound and he recreated the "bucket at the prom" scene from Carrie.

We've got brand new carpet in the house, remember?

I snatched him up like a football and scrubbed like hell with a dishrag to clean him up as best I could. Then I took him upstairs into Liz's sewing room where he doesn't mind hanging out, is gated to keep the rabbit in, and has old carpet on the floor.

When he kisses you, he smells like blood.

Posted by: Ted at 07:14 PM | category: Square Pegs
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