Thursday, May 9, 2013
If you're anything like me, you purely HATE trimming your dog's nails. Because there's the yipping, and the snarling, and the wiggling, and the dread, and the procrastination, and sometimes there's even the blood. We hate the blood. And then there's the styptic, and sometimes there's even the making little booties out of paper towels and duct tape so he doesn't leave roses all over the carpet. Ugh, ugh, ugh. If they could just make a dog with self-trimming toenails.
Well. It turns out that all you have to do is put a chipmunk up on a cinder block under a flower pot.
I was working in the studio when Phoebe looked out the window and asked, "WTH is Chet doing?"
Hm. It seems he has a chiptymunk up under that flowerpot.
He dug and dug. He lay on his side and dug.
He faced her head-on and dug.
He gave us the stink-eye for laughing at him. Asking why we didn't come out and lift that pot up and let him at the chiptymunk. It is just like a dog to enlist help from humans with a direct stare. We didn't cave.
Because I've fallen for that request before, Chet Baker, and you were on that poor panicked fleeing chiptymunk like the white on rice and you pounced on him, gave him one shake and lay him down. That's why I'm not going to help you. No way, Jose. That's just being an accomplice to the rat terrier half of you, and I'm not doing that. Even if the damn little things killed another of my American chestnuts this spring, digging it up looking for the nut they already took off it last spring, and leaving me with three, only two of which are even viable. Durn chipmunks.
You just try to get in there yourself.
So all the while those little paws with their overgrown nails are digging and scraping against that rough cinder block.
Come on. Just stop laughing, get out here and help me get this chiptymunk out.
No. You keep it up. I was going to have to ask Bill to weedwhack all that creeping Charlie, and now I won't. Because you are doing a fabulous job of clearing it out. Well done, Terrier. Well done.
I didn't realize until after Chet had given up and flopped down on the sunwarmed sidewalk that he'd done a real number on his front paws. His nails were shorter than they'd been since he was a pup! Down past the quick they were, and no bleeding. Wow.
You have nicely trimmed nails and a dirty nose, Chet Baker. And you are very very tired.
You have a well-developed prey drive, and a penchant for rodents.
If I catch this squirtle, will you make Brunswick stew with it? I would like that.
You bet, Chet Baker. I will. When you catch that squirtle. And I will look in Joy of Cooking and see if you can make Brunswick stew with chiptymunks. I am sure you can substitute three chiptymunks for one squirtle. Or some such.
So go get you a cinder block, two flowerpots and a chiptymunk, and you will never have the dread, the trimming, the yipping, the snarling, the blood or the paper towel and duct tape booties again.