I lie to a dog

Almost all of us have had a bad hairdo. Maybe a bad haircut.  It makes you feel self-conscious, a little worried about what others might think of you. It seems as though everyone is looking at you.

I remember when I was a kid, probably about nine, my mother decided that my straight, baby-fine hair should have some curl. She knew someone who did home perms, the kind in a box. It took all afternoon. It stunk to high heaven. I had to sit still under a portable hair dryer-the kind with a plastic balloon-boy hood, with curlers twisted tightly into my hair.

When it was done, I looked like I had stuck my finger into a light socket.

My sister recently found a bunch of our old family slides. She put them together onto a disc, and we looked at them together during our family reunion this past summer. It was hilarious and sad in turns.  One of the photos was of me with that perm.  When I had that perm, my mom tried to tell me that it looked good. I remember that at even nine years old, I knew she was lying. And everyone else knew it too. 

The reason that I am thinking about this all of these years later is that I took our little dog to the groomer today. Now, I admit that he was looking a little shaggy. He hates to be brushed, and as my daughter-in-law tells me, I am too much of a softy to force him to let me do it. So, his fur had gotten matted  in several places, and it had just grown very long overall.

He is a miniature Schnauzer. He carries himself with dignity. He thinks that he is a big dog, and he believes that he is a strong contender for a best in breed award (he weighs about 12 pounds, and is much smaller than most others in his breed, with major issues in his form which would never allow a best in breed, but we have not told him these things, as there is no reason to disappoint him).

When I picked him up today after this haircut, he was visibly upset. He just knows that he looks bad with this cut, I know it. He looks like a rat with a short tail and a long beard.  He has not been himself since he has come home. Even my husband agrees. It seems that the little dog is embarrassed by how bad he looks. And, to be honest, he doesn’t look good.

I can’t lie to him about this.

I’m sorry.

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