Today is for yoga, extra caffeine, and clipping Odd Trundles’s nails. The first is likely to be a bit painful, the second exceedingly enjoyable, and the third, well, that’s my cardio for the day.
Odd is sixty-plus pounds of bulldog, and he hates his bath and nail-clippings with a passion. The bath he will submit to, because he loves me and suffers much for me, but nails are a Step Too Far. Which means the grooming hook comes out, the Princess is pressed into service to put him in various wrestling holds, and the entire process is accompanied by much swearing under my breath. If he would just stay still we could have it done in under five minutes and he could get his treat and go on with his day, but noooooo, he has to wriggle, complain, and generally be a bad sport about it.
I don’t blame him, he can’t help himself. Before we got the grooming hook clipping him was an all-day extravaganza of chasing, whining, frustration, and peanut butter. Now, it’s just fifteen minutes of swearing and tussling, and a little bit of peanut butter at the end.
I wandered out to get more coffee and found the Princess was up and had breakfasted, so we got out the grooming hook and I spent ten minutes dragging Odd out of his bed in my office. He suspected something along the lines of Bathing or Other Unpleasantness was coming, and I had to upend the damn thing to get him out, then carry him (he went limp, passive resistance style, and oh my GOD does this dog weigh a tonne) to the table. The Princess held and cooed to him while I contorted myself, swore just a little and very softly, and we both comforted him as I clipped away. Better to do two small cuts than try for a big one and hit the quick, even if he hates every second of it.
Once Odd figured out the Princess wasn’t going to let go, he went limp again. Which made things both easier and more difficult at once. He’s just talented like that.
Afterwards, treats and a quick trip outside to pee, and now he is exhausted, licking his chops, hoping for more treats…and has completely forgotten about the grooming hook and his nails. I’d say he’s forgiven me, but it’s clear he just doesn’t remember anything other than “there were little bits of snackables involved.” His twin neurons are occupied with breathing in and breathing out, with a fraction of each channeled into longing for a couple more bits of dehydrated liver or something. *shudder* I know dogs are carnivores, and entrails are high-value, but I just cannot understand why anyone would ever eat another creature’s filter.
So if you’ve ever wondered about the romance of a writer’s life, just know that most of it involves wrestling with something that loves you very much but it not quite the brightest bulb in the marquee, desperately trying to contort to groom said beast in the gentlest manner possible. I am sweating, sucking on more coffee, and aching from bending in a few ways I no longer am quite young enough for. Yoga’s gonna be great today, I can just tell.
Thus concludes the thrilling tale of the Morning Clipping of Odd Trundles’s Nails. Which, I am sure, has been just as fascinating for you as it was athletic for me. Tuesday can only get better.
*sips coffee, does deep breathing*