by Nancy Canfield

Created on: July 23, 2009

Our puppy Trouble, like most dogs, loves to be scratched. He has long hair, so I never really noticed what was lurking under his curly auburn coat until my ring got tangled up in a mass of knots. Trouble remained attached to my hand as I lured him to the kitchen to find the scissors and a dog treat.

Everyone has a junk drawer and we are no different. It is an evil place existing primarily to taunt and torture anyone brave enough to open it. It is a black hole into which all things with no practical use are stored, most never to be seen again.

Trouble thought I was playing with him and, as I opened the drawer, he began chewing on my shirtsleeve. Struggling with a squirming puppy hanging from one arm, I began searching for the scissors with bright orange handles. I thought I spotted them, but the orange was a roll of fluorescent tape my sister uses to cordon off potentially dangerous areas in the house.. I stabbed myself with a toothpick action figure that one of the kids made in school (and no one wanted to throw away), before I pulled out a couple of feet of an ace bandage jammed in the back. Miraculously, the scissors fell on the floor.

The dog was still concentrating on shredding my shirtsleeve, so I easily snipped out the fur ball, and several others discovered in the process. By the time I was finished, I gave Trouble a cookie for ruining my shirt and he pranced off. Later, I noticed he was walking lopsided.

Upon further investigation, I realized the backside trim I had given him was uneven, so I enticed him with a small piece of red licorice, laid him on the floor and evened out his rear end. I steered clear of any areas that might have been permanently damaged by my enthusiasm, and in no time had clipped enough hair to fill a small throw pillow.

We all know how the home hair cut goes, one area leads to another, and cutting alternatively eventually leads to skin. Trouble had absolutely no idea what I was doing to him. He was most likely trying to figure out why he was getting licorice for no apparent reason. When I finished, he looked like he had been groomed with weed whacker. I never got a chance to clip his feet or his long floppy ears, because he was gnawing on the scissors. Not wanting to traumatize him, I decided to leave things as they were and tidy him up later. He looked a lot like a mutation of a cocker spaniel door stop we have.

Individual family members have placed me on their hit list occasionally, but never before had I reached number one on everyone's list simultaneously. My sister threatened me with laying me out naked at my wake, as she confiscated the scissors. My niece had a long sympathetic conversation with Trouble upstairs. After some secretive phone calls, my ex, my nephew, and the oldest grand niece appeared, leading me to think an intervention was about to take place and they were considering committing me. The younger kids cried a lot.

I felt somewhat vindicated in the following days because Trouble liked me best of all. I became his favorite by furtively sneaking him treats, and I used his stalking me as evidence that he was OK with his new "do". I'm also worming my way back into everyone's good graces by offering my assistance in a variety of projects.

Of course they realize I'm groveling, but I'm sure I can restore my stature in time for Christmas. They leave me alone with Trouble from time to time, and I have managed to trim up his feet little by little without anyone noticing. Next week, I'm going to work on the ears.

Learn more about this author, Nancy Canfield.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.