Decisions

I decided to trim my dog’s nails today.  My dog decided her nails didn’t need it, didn’t want it, and wouldn’t have it.  Not today, not ever.    I took this as one of those rare opportunities to show her who is the sheriff in this town.   Beauty vs. the Beast–you decide.

It began the moment she caught a glimpse of the orange handled clippers.  Suddenly her ears quit working and she slunk down low to the ground, making herself as small and helpless as possible.  Remi turned her chocolate head away from me thinking that if she couldn’t see me, then I couldn’t find her.  Being in full command of the situation, I held my ground and intensified my tone, “Remi, come.”  “R E M I…C O M E !!!”  “Come here you devil dog.”  “NOW.”  “I see you.  Remi COME.”    “You want a treat?”

Once she was in position, paws up and sandwiched between my legs, I cinched her with my kneecaps and got busy on the first of sixteen nails.  Half of her nails are white and you can easily see the pink blood line.  The others are solid black so it is a little like Russian roulette.   In four years I’ve only made her bleed once.  Pretty good odds.

Remi, by AKC definition, is:  “A versatile hunter and all-purpose gun dog, the German Shorthaired Pointer possesses keen scenting power and high intelligence except when clipping time rolls around. The breed is proficient with many different types of game and sport , including trailing, retrieving, and pointing pheasant, quail, grouse, waterfowl, raccoons, and possum.”

The tricky part about nail trimming is getting a grip on all the parts when you need them.  I have to spin her around to do the other set of paws while she is still restrained on her back.  I just hog tie her with my hands and and swing her fore to aft like a puppet on a string.  Years of practice, my friends.  Don’t try this at home.

About halfway through the job and all the way through her patience, she shot me the skunk eye and started up with her whimpering bull crap.   When that failed to impress, she went to plan B:  yanking her paw out of my hand, feigning a mortal wound, and trying to break free.  I’ve been to this rodeo before, so send in the clowns.  Eventually we got done wearing each other out and the job is done.  Each is glad to be rid of the other.

I’m the sheriff all right, just call me Barney Fife.