Doggy's Bad Hair Day

Just because I own scissors, does not mean I need to use them, or know how to use them. I decided to groom Ballou this weekend, and mayhem broke out in my apartment. It started off fabulous, but soon became a hairy disaster. Her beautiful coat was maimed by the one who loves her the most. How could I do this to poor Ballou? What made me turn my beautiful doggy into a naked mole rat impostor? I am blaming it on my frugal ways. Some things in life are worth spending money on, and now I know Ballou's grooming is one of them. Frantically, I called every groomer in all of Chicago. Sure enough, every groomer was completely booked, so I walked down the street to the nearest dog boutique and begged them to fit her in asap. After one look at Ballou, they decided to double book her with another dog at 3 o'clock the next day. Finally, the time came! When I dropped her off, they told me that they would do the best they could. When I picked her up, the groomer looked at me, and said "I tried"... Fifty dollars and one traumatized dog later, she looked the absolute same, but now was furious with me. Great, I not only butchered my animal, but I got her to hate me as well. Right now, I did not like myself either. I spent the rest of my Sunday trying to make it up to her. Thankfully, I decided to cut her hair and not my own. As I sat with a friend on Sunday night, laughing at my poor dogs terrible predicament, I realized the importance of learning from our mistakes, not matter how big, small, or expensive. I have laughed and cried over this mistake, but in the end, no real harm was done. I survived my fair share of poor hair cut choices by my mother. Everyone has. I lived through matching mullets with my brother, and bowl cuts that should have never come into existence. Ballou will survive, and so will my damaged ego. Sure, I get some strange looks while I walk Ballou down the street, but she does not mind, so why should I?