Took Jock out yesterday for a much needed shampoo and haircut. Poodle parlour lady gave me a bollocking for obviously not washing and brushing him often enough. Then asked if I'd been attacking him with the scissors. I sheepishly pleaded guilty. But only a wee bit as he's darned hard to catch. Hence his resembling a lopsided bramble bush. Had to leave him there, chained to the operating table. Gave me a filthy look as I went out the door.
Killed a couple of hours having coffees and being dragged around Aubusson by a fascinated Sprocket. Doesn't get to see much of the outside world. Sat outside one caff where the boss lady seemed to think it a little odd when I placed my cup and saucer on a chair instead of the table. Little did she know that Sprocket might send the table flying if he saw another dog. Poor lad was in sensory overload with all the hustle and bustle of cars and people going past. Somewhat surprisingly, when a dog or two wandered by, he hardly reacted. Just a snarl and a growl. Not the expected unleashing of the guardian of Hades. A sharp pull on his short lead and a quiet "NO SPROCK" probably helped.
Hardly recognised wee Jocky when I returned to the poodle parlour. Looked completely different and smelt of roses. 'Madame' seemed quite shocked about discovering a tick on his tum. Just the one, thought I. Can't be bad. Shoved him in the car hoping Sprock would still recognise the blighter. Luckily he did. But only just. And I swear he laughed. Then stopped off for a quick walk on the way home. Jock jumped straight into the muddy stream. Then rolled in some cow poo.
Aye, that's ma boy.
