Tonight, Matthew…

Despite our best intentions about bathing and brushing and associated upkeep, the Waff is always a hairy mess in the days before his visit to the groomer’s.

There are mats, tangles, hairballs and dreadlocks… you’d swear he had been living on the streets for a month rather than tucked up in his blankie in front of the fire every evening.

Him being a breed of high maintenance, Waffle’s supposed to be brushed thoroughly once a day but good luck to that: I don’t even brush my own hair (or what’s left of it) once a day, never mind doing the dog.

And so my best intentions routinely fail and I am forever destined to be apologising to the groomer for the Waff’s less than pristine appearance. Apart from feeling like a clown, these apologies also annoy me. Once again, I’m telling myself, I’m having to make allowances for this hot mess who continues to make a nuisance of himself on a daily basis, like bringing slugs into the house because even the soles of his feet are freakily hairy.

Still, Rachel from The Dog’s Paws Grooming Salon receives me and the hairy mess with good grace and that good grace extends to her ministrations with the Waff. She is as patient as the day is long and even Waffle’s incessant high-pitched super whining doesn’t appear to phase her one bit – whereas if I were her, I’d be looking for the nearest large club before tipping him into a cauldron of sheep dip and then shaving him red raw down to the skin.

To give him his dues, Waffle is – according to Rachel – very well behaved after I take my leave. The whinging abates and he apparently stands up like a proper little gentleman to have his wash, blow-dry and trim. Rachel also cleans his ears, snips his nails and generally gives him a whole body check up.

As with all works of art however, Waffle’s transformation can’t happen in a trice. When there are mats, tangles, hairballs and dreadlocks to contend with (plus the ear-cleaning and toe-nail snipping), time becomes a bystander to necessity. In other words, Rachel has her work cut out for her and then some.

Last week’s visit to the salon resulted in not one, not two, not three but four hours’ worth of pampering. Four blessed hours when I didn’t have to listen to his whinginess, I didn’t trip over him fifty million times and generally I didn’t have to contend with his constant botheration. I missed him like a fat man misses gout.

Remember as a kid, if you were fortunate enough to have your hair cut, one of your friends undoubtedly suggested the next day at school with razor sharp wit, “Did you have a fight with a lawnmower?” This was a comment on how radically that haircut had impacted upon a person’s appearance.

For his part, Waffle didn’t so much have his appearance radically changed but rather, he was a completely different dog.

When the four blessed, heaven-sent, magical hours were up and I returned to collect the fangy devil, had Rachel told me she’d swapped hot mess Waffle for a new dog named Wiffle, I wouldn’t have questioned her word. He was basically a new dog in every way. He even smelled of baby powder and I could have sworn there was a new twinkle is his eye – as if the realisation had dawned that his new-found coiffure would work wonders with his chances with the ladies.

As you can see from the before and after pics, this transformation is significant. He goes from Waffle the itinerant hobo to Wiffle the waiter from the Savoy in one fell swoop. It’s probably just me but with his ears framing his face, he almost looks as if he has a bob haircut. I’m not sure if he looks cuter or cheekier.

Of course, I’d have recognised him immediately upon the recommencement of the high-pitched keening (oh! How I’d missed it!) and later when he peed on my shoe, such was his heightened state of excitement at our reunification. I’d have recognised that Lucozade-coloured stream anywhere.

The haircut was Thursday and as of today (Monday), we’re still brushing and grooming Wiffle at home.

The intentions are the best and are still translating into action.

Long way to go, though.

‘Rachel is as patient as the day is long and even Waffle’s incessant high-pitched super whining doesn’t appear to phase her one bit – whereas if I were her, I’d be looking for the nearest large club before tipping him into a cauldron of sheep dip and then shaving him red raw down to the skin’