For the Love of Dog

February is the month of love.

Oh, George the Superpet!  How I love you.

George the Superpet is our 106 pound Standard Poodle/Human.  We are sure he is a dog/human mix because of his ability to casually burp and his disdain for laying on hard surfaces.  

This is how George spends most of his days:

We are kindred spirits, George and I.  He follows me around the house and lays on the softest surface he can find nearby while I work.  I normally get out of bed around 6:30 to get my coffee infusion and make the kids' lunches for school.  George the Superpet will stay in bed until he hears the sound of the peanut butter top being unscrewed, and then I can hear him scramble out of bed to see if he can get lucky.  I, too, have been known to get that excited about peanut butter.  I will tell George the Superpet that it is time to wake YD, and he will trot off to her room and nuzzle his nose under her covers to wake her.  (I know she's awake when she starts yelling, "Knock it OFF, George!"  Then she invites him on her bed and tucks him in until I arrive.)

Since George is a Standard Poodle, he actually grows hair instead of fur, and he doesn't shed, but he needs to get groomed every couple of months.  Since it's been so cold, I haven't taken him in for his regular grooming in a while, because I like him puffy and looking like a polar bear.  When I walked into my bedroom the other day, George was laying on my bed, smoking pot, listening to "Get Up Stand Up" and twisting his dreadlocks, so I made his grooming appointment.

This is what George looked like before his appointment:

 

Don't you just want to run your hands through that?

Here is George after his shearing yesterday:

  

It's sad, isn't it?

When he comes home from the groomer, he is always embarrassed and angry.  He goes outside to pee as quickly as he can, presumably so the Yorkie twins next door and the Golden Retriever across the street can't see him, and then he sulks in his chair.  He won't lay by me, and he gives me dirty looks.  And to this I say, "Welcome to the hell my other children experience every damn day, George.  Now suck it up and clean your room."

But I still feel a little bad.  So to George the Superpet, I say don't worry, it will grow out.  I am sorry.  And I still love you, even if you are pink and rat-like.