The poor dogs.
The time of year has arrived. All up and down Oak Street the birds are flapping about with oversized sticks, frantically nesting ready for the new babies to be.
This morning I took them into the conservatory and cut their fur.
The dogs’ fur, obviously, not the birds. Birds, as you probably know, have feathers. This is the reason that when you see them sitting together in a tree, they are all facing into the wind. We turn our backs on it, but if birds did that they would have a terrible chilly draught ruffling underneath their feathers, and so when the wind is blowing at hurricane force, probably around the middle of July if you are in the Lake District, the birds are bravely turned to face the storm.
What an ace metaphor that could be if you were of a moralistic turn of thought, which I am not. Sloping off into a warm corner and hoping that the storm will buzz off somewhere else is more to my way of thinking.
Anyway, the poor dogs are sulking and shivering like mad now, despite the fire being lit. The Peppers donated a jumper for Roger Poopy’s father, who is not stoically inclined and was feeling very sorry for himself.
They do not like having their fur cut, and Roger Poopy cried, piteously, all the way through, as if it was causing him excruciating pain, which it wasn’t. On top of that he tried to make himself as small as he possibly could, tucking his tail and legs in as close to his chest as could be managed, so that whenever I tugged a paw free it sprang back again the second I let go of it. He has got little tufts all over where he had had enough. Actually he had had enough after the first thirty seconds. He has got little tufts left from the point at which he started fighting for his life and had to be restrained with my elbow in his throat.
My hairdresser does not ever need to do that to me.
It was a long and wearisome task. I gave up before trimming Roger Poopy’s claws, which is usually the last act of torture. This was because he was wriggling so hard that I thought I might cut his toe off by accident.
Once it was finished they both bounded off with great joy, wagging and sneezing until their claws clattered on the floor, and I emptied the sack of vile-smelling fur on the top of the compost heap for the birds to make into warm cradles for their babies. This is one of my favourite things to see, because they are so very pleased to find it every year, and lurch unsteadily away with enormous beakfuls. I have had to guard my moss for the archways that I am building in the conservatory, because they found the sack in the yard a few days ago, and when I went out to peg the washing there was the aftermath of a mossy squabble all over the log pile.
In the end it was done, and the clearing up took almost as long as the clipping. There seemed to be dog fur absolutely everywhere, although I suspect that some of it might have been accumulating for a while. It will be rather splendid to have a house free from dog fluff for a few months.
In fact it was my second hairdressing experience in twenty four hours, because I cut Oliver’s hair last night. The Peppers loaned us some slightly less savage clippers, the sort which actually leave about an inch of hair on your head. I did not know that such things existed but they do.
Oliver was gloomy but resigned, and I thought the result was all right, although he said that he is going to be called Egg at school. He has still got a few weeks before he goes back, so it will be fine.
Considering I had drunk two and a half glasses of Asda’s finest Red Wine In A Box it was just fine. He complained of the cold this morning, and put on his flat cap to go to work.
Talking of which, you might laugh, as I did, to hear that the Truant Officer turned up at the house where they are working in Barrow, demanding to know why Oliver was not at school. I thought perhaps that somebody had reported them but Mark said that he had a side job as a carpet fitter and was just combining the two.
He accepted Oliver’s assurances that he would go back to school at the earliest possible opportunity, and sooner if he had the chance, and is going to come back and fit some carpets there next week.
I have attached a picture of the dogs.
You can practically see the forgiveness beaming out of their souls.
