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Thursday, March 18, 2004

Leave My Vienersnitzel Alone

When they told me I would be a show dog I thought, Hey, that’s cool!
Displaying my cuteness for cars passing by on route to the shows would be fun. “Look Mommy, a Scottie. Isn’t he cute!”
Little did I know what torture lie ahead.

Left to my own choosing, I would lay in the sunshine streaming through our living room’s picture window, surveying all of Duganville. While Basking in the sun, I would expertly contort myself into every conceivable cute position, remaining vigilant and maintaining law and order in my corner of the world. Scotties were bred for independent work, and that’s just the way I like it. I prefer to nap, eat, bark and play on my terms.

Apparently my humans aren’t familiar with the Scottie Declaration of Independence. They lovingly placed me on the back seat of the car and securely latched my harness. If I had known that the bag on the floor held every conceivable torture tool known to doghood I would have chewed off their hands before they closed the car door. My fate was sealed.

I was plucked, stripped, combed, brushed and sprayed more than any dog should endure in his lifetime. They even shampooed the hair around my vienersnitzel. (And I am not even German!)

If that wasn’t sufficiently demeaning, they placed a thin black leash around my neck and led me into a small room with other pissed-off Scotties my age. One particular smart aleck looked me in the eye and said "My, they spent extra time washing your vienersnitzel, didn't they?" I had no choice; I had to take him down.

Life's short. Bite hard.

Dugan



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