Monday, August 22, 2016

A rough week for the Royal Pooch

Yes, I am Lord Banjo, but my aristocratic heritage doesn’t mean I’m stuck up or demanding; well maybe I’m a teensy bit demanding when it comes to belly rubs, but that’s it.

These past few days, though, have tried my royal patience.  You know I’m accustomed to taking a morning walk whether it’s at home with Dad or at camp with Miss Beverly so I was disappointed one morning when Dad failed to get up early enough for our walk. 

I have a forgiving nature and thought, “Oh well, I can miss one hot morning; I’m sure Dad will get up earlier tomorrow,” and I quickly got over my disappointment when Mum put me in her car. I was sure we were going somewhere special for a walk and was hoping it was the river.   

When we pulled up at the Royal Groomer’s, it clicked.  “Uh-oh,” I groaned, “another bath.” It’s not that I mind being clean and shiny; I just don’t particularly care for the bathing process. If only someone could come up with a way for me to get clean by playing in the rain or wading in a creek, two of my favorite activities.

I consoled myself with the knowledge that I’d soon be home getting lots of kisses and hugs, but oh no, there was another surprise to come.  It seemed a good idea when the Royal Mum asked the groomer to trim the long scraggly hairs around my ever-shrinking tummy so as to show off my manly chest and trim waist. Unfortunately, that request got lost in translation, and I’ve ended up with some kind of choppy “do.”  

My choppy "do"
My lovely black and white chest looks as though a madman hacked my fur coat with dull scissors. I know, I know, it will grow back, but it’s pretty darned embarrassing—especially when I roll over for a belly rub.

I figured the week could only get better, but again the next day, no walk.  “What’s up with this?” I wondered. There was also no water in my water bowl.  Things were getting stranger by the hour, but I’m an even-keeled kind of boy, so I got excited when Dad loaded me in his car; except once again, no ride to the river. This time, it was a ride to see the Royal Dentist.  What next?

The dentist knocked me out and cleaned my teeth.  When Dad picked me up, I was woozy and had a sore mouth.  I could barely eat that night or the next morning, and I was beginning to think Mum and Dad had lost their minds. I could only think, “Somehow I must get a message to the Royal Physician before my parents come up with yet another way to torture me.”

Fortunately, before I could send out an SOS, I had a pleasant surprise. That’s right; Mum’s cousin arrived at the palace.  That wise lady adores me, as do most folks, and she appropriately showered me with hugs and belly rubs.  She even accompanied Dad and me on our walks and let me sleep beside her bed.

I deserted the royal parents for two nights, only heading to their bedroom in time to wake them up, and I tried to get in the car to leave with Mum’s cousin, just to make a point. What point? Mum and Dad need to mend their ways. Much as I would hate to leave the royal abode, I have plenty of admirers out there who would take me in should there be a repeat of last week’s events.  

The good news is the royal routine has resumed, and all is once again right in the world. Ah yes, the Royal Pooch is mightily pleased.