Val Has a Dirty Little Secret

There has been a situation developing over the past two or three weeks. A situation which I am reluctant to discuss. Something to be swept under the rug. Locked in the attic. Shoved between the mattress and box springs. But you know Val! She of the loose lips, who could have single-handedly sunk the Titanic with nary an iceberg in sight, just a couple of flippant comments to the wrong parties, and BINGO, the Titanic takes a nosedive into Davy Jones's locker. And I'm not talking about The Monkee who Marcia Brady got to sing at her dance.

Here's the deal. There's a dirty little secret in Backroads, and that dirty little secret is my sweet, sweet Juno. She has grown unkempt. She's the Pigpen of the Thevictorian fleabags. Where she used to be silky and shiny, she is now dull and matted. Full of burs. She has truly let herself go. If she was a person, she would be that gal you try to help by leaving Secret in her locker, dropping a sample bottle of Scope in her purse, or telling about this fabulous new shampoo you have just tried, called Prell. You don't want to hurt her feelings, but an intervention must be held.

The Pony and I have both tried brushing Juno with the metal-pronged dog brush. She stands mostly still for me, but sits down for The Pony so he can't get to her feathery haunches. Her tail, which used to brush back-and-forth like a silky black broom, is now coated with dust, and tangled. The Pony and I have picked burs until the cows come home. But the next morning, Juno is full of them again.

I told Hick that I want to shave Juno, or trim her to a very short length for the summer. He said I can't do that. That Juno's fur is how she keeps herself cool. Today I asked him again. Like maybe we can take her to a groomer at the start of next summer, and get her a haircut. Until then, my idea is a good No-More-Tears kind of dog shampoo. I fear that Hick is correct when he says she will simply run through the burs again tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after. Indeed, that seems to be the pattern.

Either Ann the black german shepherd is lazier than Juno, or she has fur that repels the burs. Her only issue is that tan undercoat that gets full of dust, but it is easily brushed out with the dog comb. Funny thing. Lately Ann has been sleek and silky and shiny, while Juno is drab and dull. I think perhaps somebody else is eating Juno's daily egg ration.

Anyhoo...Wednesday evening, I sent The Pony in to get my kitchen shears. I stood on the sidewalk and petted Juno up on the side porch. When the scissors arrived, I hacked many, many wads of bur-matted fur off of various locations on her body. Quite a lot, really. She was mainly compliant, though I did have to say "bad dog" a couple of times when she tried to run off to her house.

While I was snipping snarls of fur-burs, The Pony took it upon himself to clean out the dog brush for the umpteenth time. The easiest way, you know, is to whack it on the side of the porch, or some other sturdy object. The Pony discovered this on his own and showed me, because I used to pull out those tufts of fur with my hands, much like you would clean a human hair brush. So there I am, snipping away, and The Pony, standing up on the side porch, starts whacking that dog brush on the shelf that holds the roaster pan full of cat kibble. Which meant that all of the fur wads he knocked loose were blown by the wind right into my face. I brought that news to his attention.

"Hey! The wind is blowing that dog fur right into my face!"

"I know."

Well. I'd had enough! I gave my kitchen scissors to The Pony and told him to take them inside. At least that got rid of him while I gave Juno a reward for being mostly a good sport while I hacked at her fur-burs. Oh, don't think I was rough on Juno. According to Hick, he and his Number One son took a break from putting up the sides of a hay shed to remove burs from Juno. WITH A POCKET KNIFE!

"Yeah, we tried to get some off of her. He had a pocket knife, so one of us would hold her while the other sawed until the fur came off."

That man is just barbaric.

So...Thursday morning I was rushing around getting ready to go serve my second day of snow-make-up hours at school, and I went to microwave the two mini sausage biscuits that I have with my medicine. I took the kitchen scissors out of the silverware drawer and snipped the corner off the package. The I snipped down the length of the package to vent it while they warmed.

At that moment I remembered that the last time I used those kitchen scissors was for CUTTING FUR-BURS OFF MY SWEET, SWEET JUNO!

"ACK! I've cut open my food with dog scissors! I have dog germs! Get hot water! Get some disinfectant! Get some iodine!" Lucy Van Pelt has nothing on Val.

"Hey! Pony! Did you put my kitchen scissors right back in the drawer after I used them to cut Juno's fur?"

"Uh huh."

"They needed to be washed! Why didn't you put them by the sink?"

"You didn't tell me to. So I put them back."

My mom loved that story. She almost needed an inhaler to catch her breath. I don't find it quite so funny. And my tail is nowhere near wagging.