Dangling Dixie to do the deed...

I think I’ve written about this before, so if you remember it, that’s good. It was probably not the column for which I won a Pulitzer Prize. Also, I didn’t win the Nobel Prize for it. My kids didn’t read it, and if they did, they didn’t mention it. No one sent me a thank-you note for sensitivity and understanding of the human condition. If I remembered sending it in, I’d wait to send in a similar column for a few years… but I don’t. I just know that this is an on-going problem, one that affects most of us, and is currently driving me crazy.

I can’t trim my dog’s toenails. I’m not sure why God invented dog toenails, but there must have been a reason… back when they were wolves, and they were jumping over logs for dog food commercials, maybe nails were necessary. For the domesticated dog, there is very little purpose in long nails. They do not really need to scratch holes in furniture while making a soft bed. They don’t need to dig through concreteto find long-lost bones. That bone is under dirt. Long, sharp nails are not necessary.

If it were necessary for my dog to get my attention by removing the top layer of my skin on my arm, then maybe. However, I am not holding back on dog biscuits. I am not sitting on their stuffed “baby.” I am not refusing attention. They should not pivot on my delicate skin while jumping from my lap. They should not scratch the coloration from the seat of my leather chair just to fluff it up for a nap. Perhaps, they should learn to chew their own toenails… like the rest of us do.

I put a notation on Facebook the other night saying that I needed a muscular young man, with leather pants, heavy-duty long-sleeves, and sharp clippers. He would be paid nicely for trimming Dixie’s toenails. Of course, if he was strong and had sharp clippers, the other items were optional. My friends laughed and suggested other options.

My sister suggested buying a sling which would clamp to an overhead bar. While Dixie was dangling from the sling, the nails could be nicely clipped. I ordered it. It came the next day… from some place where the dogs are complacent, and the owners are members of an Olympic team.

There were a few problems with this idea. Dixie is a forty-pound professional wrestler. I can hardly lift her into the bathtub, much less up to an overhead hook on the back porch. Most importantly, Dixie didn’t want to wear the sling, be lifted over my head, nor did she want to have short nails.

I got her into the sling. I got her hooked to the backyard swing… which was lower than the overhead bar I had planned to use. About that time, I realized that the brand-new pair of clippers which came with the sling were made from heavy-duty aluminum foil and springs from recycled ball point pens.

By this time, Dixie had removed her front legs from the sling and was seriously considering trimming my fingers. With great effort, I got her out of the sling and gave her a T-bone steak in apology. I sent the sling and accoutrements back and will soon get my money back. I hope it’s enough to pay a groomer… to which our reputation doesn’t proceed us.