Mr. October

In many ways, our dog Olaf is a serious mess. He's got bad hips, very little stamina, and enough phobias to keep a canine psychologist busy for many long hours. To top it all off, he's a groomer's nightmare--a 120 pound lint catching, twig collecting, mud-caked mountain of fur. When he was a puppy, a local pet store had a special grooming price for all dogs under 1 year old--the whole shebang for $9.99. We took full advantage of the deal, proudly presenting our 100 pound puppy (and required birth certificate) for his day of beauty. I believe that store has now changed their policy.

Anyway, it costs far more to get him groomed these days, and so a spa trip is a rare and special occassion for Olaf and he knows it.


Here he was yesterday morning, pre-grooming session, not even making eye contact, knowing he wasn't presentable. When I opened the door and urged him into the car, he wagged for all he was worth and squeezed himself into the minivan. I think if they could put his hair in rollers and paint his nails, he'd be thrilled.

And now for the big reveal.....

I give you Mr. October,

happily posing for his photo shoot.

He's expecting a call from Westminster.

Glowing with pride, he strikes a regal pose on our hill.

"Hey baby."

Someone knows he's lookin' good.