Well I am a terrier, and it is not in my nature to back away from a confrontation.
You see, I heard this week, apropos the debt crisis in Greece, that the banks have been forced to have another haircut.
By an amazing co-incidence, I too have been enduring a haircut this week.
It is not my idea of fun.
To be strictly accurate, for the most part my hair is not cut, it is 'hand stripped' (by special stripping knife rather than literally by hand). Gail persists in the delusion that this is a skill she will eventually master. Meanwhile....
I have noticed that she has developed a strategy of starting with my neck area, then moving backwards. Now I will admit, it's quite a pleasant feeling, all that pressing and plucking action around the neck. A bit like a massage. One can feel relaxed. Having lulled me into a false sense of security, Gail then moves onto my black patch. This is not so relaxing, but Gail insists, "Oh it's worth it Bertie, think of all those people we meet who admire your markings and wonder how it is that your patches are black not grey like so many other wire-haired fox terriers".
Perhaps I should include a wee technical explanation here.
See this photo below. They are some of the old hairs Gail stripped from my back this afternoon.
See how the hairs change colour half way down. The tips are black and the root ends pale grey. If my hair were cut not stripped then the black would be all removed and my markings would be a boring grey colour. Which, as Gail says, would impress no-one. Except perhaps the odd schnauzer owner.
Now I can't help but remark that it is Gail who basks in the glory from having a dog with a coat that other humans admire, and me who has to put up with all the tugging. "But Bertie" Gail says "you gain too, your beautiful glossy wiry coat is so much more waterproof for not having been sheared."
Well that's as maybe, but really there are limits to what one will tolerate, for vanity or weather resistance.
When Gail moves on towards my nether regions, the stripping action is most uncomfortable, and I let her know it. At this point I am suspecting her of fantasizing that she is giving this sort of a 'haircut' to Sir Mr Fred Goodwin.
Fortunately, before too long, she puts down the stripping knife and out come the scissors. Phew.
I wonder if my friends are put through all this malarkey?
PS I asked Gail if she would take an 'after' photo of me, but she said, Bertie, the sad truth is, despite the fact I seem to have removed half a dog, you don't actually look that different. So I said, oh go on Gail, take one anyway.
And here it is.
PS Gail would like to point out that all she is aiming for with Bertie's coat is a modicum of tidiness, and not a 'show grade' outcome!
