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April 8th. The lockdown haircut.

The Owner says the Man’s Hair needs cutting.

Indeed, I am becoming Rather Shaggy, he says.

I will do it, says the Owner.

In your Dreams, says the Man. You are a Doctor, not a Hairdresser.

The Moral Dog could do it, I say, give me the Scissors.

I do not know what you are Teaching that Dog, says the Man, but he has Ideas above his Station.

How rude, I say. I am full of Ideas.

He is an Artist, says the Owner there are Dogs who have exhibited at the Tate Modern.

That is exactly what worries me, says the Man.

Look, says the Owner, Hergest and I are merely offering Assistance. You want the Hair to be Shorter, do you not? What can possibly go wrong?

Would you like a List? Asks the Man, and disappears into the Room in which he holds his conference calls. The Door Shuts. There are Worse Things than being Shaggy, says his Voice through the Door.

The Owner and I look at One Another.

Geniuses are Never Recognised in their Own Lifetime, says the Owner.

I thought Picasso, I say. It would make him look Edgy.

The problem is, says the Owner, that he knows we are not trained in Haircuts.

It is only Hair, I say. How bad can it be? I ask.

That is easy for the Moral Dog to say, given that he has the Luxury of being a Short-Haired Breed, says the Owner. Some of us, however, are rather more Shaggy. My hair does not get like this by itself.

Good Lord, I say, you mean you keep it like that Deliberately?

Look, says the Owner. You are a Shorthaired Dog. You do not Understand Human Hair. But do you not remember how you All Felt when Caspar went to the Dog Groomers and came out looking all Proud?

No, I say. I have Blotted it Out. Although sometimes a faint Flash returns as I stare into the Darkness during those Lonely Moments when the Owner is Refusing to Get Up and it is clear that Dawn is Breaking.

You mean 3am this morning when you demanded to get into my bed because the Ghostly Owls were Hooting Again, says the Owner.

Exactly, I say. I am still Haunted by Caspar’s Makeover, I say. Houdini was so shocked that his Owner managed to Put him on a Lead and Jeremy the Beagle fell off his Soap Box and had to be given extra Pondwater. He said he thought he had seen the Ghost of Parsley the Lion, I say, but I do not suppose you were proposing to put Curlers in the hair of the Man, I say. Nor Pomade, I say.

No, says the Owner, I was suggesting a mere Spirit-of-Lockdown Trim.

We could look Online, I say, there must be guidance on such Haircuts. After all, as the Queen said in her Speech to the Nation, there are Many People in the same boat. We must all Work Together.

That is a Good Idea, says the Owner. Let us Look Online for Inspiration.

Together the Owner and I google Haircuts in Lockdown. Numerous images appear on our Screen.

We  look at the Pictures for a While.

Wow, I say.

I think if those people were in the same Boat, says the Owner, they would all Jump Out.

By Mutual agreement, we put the Scissors away and go to Tidy the garage. We leave the Man behind the door on his conference call. We will not Mention Haircuts again. There Really Are worse things than Being Shaggy.





Categories: covid diary dignity dog dog philosophy haircut Uncategorized

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Hergest the Hound

I am a dog of many thoughts.

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