Honesty...

I expect you are all wondering how the two four-legged terrorists are?  I say terrorists, but we all know that there is just one as Percy tends to fall within the Mary Poppins 'practically perfect in every way camp'.  Reg continues to be the lovable rogue he always has been, and while I see the good in him every day, it would appear that on occasions, he does throw the rule book away.

Take last Wednesday for instance.  It was their six weekly trip to the groomers for a top to toe makeover for £40 each (if I could get as much work done on my face and body for forty quid, I'd be thrilled skinny).  We won't go into any great depth today about the husband offering to take the dogs to the groomer and turning a two minute journey into an hour and a half epic adventure.

'There was no one there', was his response when I called him to see if he'd forgotten to drop the boys off en route to work.  I had visions of Reg on the forklift, and Percy doing a bit of H&S paperwork in the tea hut).

'How did you know there was no one there?' I asked him. 'Well, there were no lights on', says he.  'But did you try the door?' 

Well, it appears not. It's lucky he doesn't work on the same premise with the fridge I suppose, otherwise he'd be in much smaller trousers.  Mind you....

So anyway, picking the boys up later (smelling like a couple of girls) I joked with the groomer about loving to see what happened while they had the dogs on the grooming table.  'I bet Percy is as good as gold, and Reg is is a complete nightmare', I said with a smile.  Now the polite response would have been something along the lines, of 'oh, they are just no trouble at all' but what I got was this.  'They say that owners know their dogs best, don't they'.  Rude, but fair, I suppose.

It's lucky my hairdresser doesn't have to put up with this kind of behaviour.  I know for a fact that when I am due in for a trim, she heads to a corner of the salon and goes down on her knees at the alter dedicated to the patron saint of frizzy hair, Saint Crystal Tips of FrizzEase, swears profusely, pours herself a double brandy and pops a mask on, so that I can't see the fixed grimace and silent swearing as she attempts to manhandle my frizz into something resembling a hairdo acceptable in polite society.

I'm sure that when I leave, she does the right thing, and says, 'oh, she was no trouble at all'.

But we all know what she really wants to say...