Anyone who knows me knows I basically turn into mush when a little dog is around. I’m known to yell “puppy!” with the excitement of a two-year-old when I see a dog pass by on the street. The past few months, my puppy-talk has evolved (devolved?) into calling most dogs “Shaboo.”
I grew up with dogs–the earliest ones I remember were Yofi and Doovey (sp?) which meant Beautiful and Little Bear in Hebrew, respectively. I don’t remember what happened to those ones, but then they were replaced by Mr. Spacely, a terrier who had to be put to sleep not long after we got him. Finally, when I was in first grade, we hit the puppy jackpot with Maxwell Smart, a toy poodle (really the size of a miniature) with a personality so human it was uncanny. Continue reading
My family is a family of researchers (read: nerdy but smart). So when my sisters began watching the show Hell’s Kitchen, one from her house in Troy, New York and the other from her apartment in Seal Beach, California, they both found themselves curious about the beef Wellington dish often featured on the show. So, naturally, they looked it up on Wikipedia and Googled it to find nearby restaurants that served beef Wellington. This is when having a computer engineer stepdad with an alter-ego as gourmet chef comes in handy. When Rachel (the New York sister) was visiting last week, she requested beef Wellington for our big family dinner. And she got it alright, along with what could be dubbed as a “Feast of Bread and Starch.” Oh, and besides being nerdy researchers, we are also mildly obsessed with poodles, which somehow managed to work its way into the evening…Rachel was pretty excited.
Don’t worry, this isn’t going to become a blog about poodles. But in an update to a previous post, a cliff hanger which depicted Trixie Belle in reverent prayer as she prepared for a horrific day at the groomer’s, I wanted to show some before and after photos:
Here’s Trixie before her haircut. This style is reminiscent of a high school skater’s mop top circa 1995 (Clueless era – remember Travis Birkenstock?).
My poodle, Trixie, is getting groomed today. Grooming Day is never a happy day in our house. Ever since Trixie was a pup, she has been scared to death of the groomer. We’ve tried taking her to different places, and even for about a year hired a mobile groomer to come to our house and cut Trixie’s hair in a truck outside so she would be spared the Car Ride of Terror. I remember one time when the groomer showed up at our house, she had been there enough times for Trixie to recognize her. When we heard a knock at the door, Trixie, in her ignorance, bounded toward the foyer barking joyfully. But the sight of the groomer scared the crap out of her. No, literally. Trixie turned tail and ran away, two tiny turds falling from her butt after sheer terror loosened her bowels. Okay, it was pretty much the funniest and saddest thing I’ve ever seen. Continue reading