Spindle and the Pedicure

I had applied my front paws to my hips, pointed my lithsome limbs in the air and began to pedal towards the ceiling. I had noticed, during my pandemic hermitude that I had begun to let myself go a little. This would obviously not do as a Spindle has her standards, so I had decided to begin a vigorous exercise routine to try and combat the extra padded bits I had acquired and to invigorate my mind with feelings of well being. 

It was whilst I was in this, some might say, vulnerable position, when out of the corner of my eye I saw the pair of human slaves edge their way towards me. They were the embodiment of furtiveness. A small alarm bell rang in my ear when I spotted that Muvver was clutching what looked like a pair of torture pliers…Hector was also holding something and I at once knew what this was about…It was pedicure time. 

I am quite resistant to having my claws trimmed, as I have exceptionally ticklish and sensitive paws so it is usually done by a vet nurse, who is experienced in the way of the vibrating hound. I can remember the times that me, Muvver and the vet nurse, ended up on the floor in a tangled heap, backed up in the corner of the room. I was not happy, and they were not happy. 

When we exited the room, everyone in the waiting room stared at us, wondering what all the banging and shouting was about. Muvver looked like she had been doing aerobics in a hurricane, and I was feeling very put upon. I think it was more alarming that the nurse was not seen again for some time. To add insult to injury I was called several names which are not suitable for repeating.

However, due to the galloping lung virus we had not been to the vets in a while. Muvver had half heartedly attempted a trim, but I outwitted her easily. Now it would seem, they meant business. 

I flopped onto my side and peered at the pair of them, who were smiling lovingly at me. Before I knew it they were crouched at my side, with a glint of determination I was not entirely happy about – and so it began.

I have discovered that one of my best features in a gentle fracas is my Spindle-some limbs. They are a superb deterrent when I flail them about, one limb is effective…all four can be a weapon of mass destruction. There began my reclined reenactment of River Dance. 

After a frantic few minutes we all rested for a moment, all of us panting and the loons trying to reclaim any shred of self respect they had left. (Incidently this went years ago but I didn’t think to mention it at the time). I ignored a whispered conversation between them about orbital sanders and huffed my displeasure at them. 

A look was exchanged between them, then out it came. The game changer.

My nemesis – cheese.

Well this was unfair. My mind became muddled as I breathed in the piquant and alluring aroma of the cheddar morsel that was wafted in front of my pointy face. Hector began to croon gentle words and affirmations of his love, and wasn’t I a good girl (pfft!) and then Muvver went at my paws like a demented Edward Scissorhands. All that could be heard was a gentle pinging, as bits of my claws ricochetted off anything within a 2 metre radius. I then began the mournful lament of my fellow hounds and whined, conveying my distress and decrying the indignity of the situation.

I will admit to you all now, I didn’t feel a thing. Well, that isn’t true. I felt a deep sense of shame that I could be controlled so easily by a cube of cow product. It is my downfall however, and proves irresistible to me. I liked it when Muvver worked in a farm shop deli, as she always came home reeking of gorgonzola and Stinking Bishop. I haven’t mentioned that I still get a whiff of it occasionally, even though she no longer fondles cheese for a living. 

Five minutes later we all sat back, dishevelled (them) and in a cheese coma (me). 

I stared at them with my best reproachful look, but they had the audacity to just grin at me, drunk with victory. 

What was even more annoying was they did feel much better having been trimmed. I no longer dramatically skittered over the wooden floor as I chased piggy pig. I had regained a proper purchase on flooring. 

By this point I had no enthusiasm or energy left for exercise, so I changed into my floral house coat, poured myself a large Dubbonet and bitter lemon and kicked back my newly tidied trotters for a well earned rest.

Until next time my lovelies…



5 thoughts on “Spindle and the Pedicure

  1. Jan

    I’ve never been brave enough to try to wrestle with my hound for claw clipping- I have always let the vet attempt this with me handing onto my hound for dear life itself! Maybe cheese is the magic key. If I open the fridge she is always right behind me- regardless of where she was when I first open the fridge door. I may try this as vets are only seeing emergencies due to COVID19. I think I know what I will be doing this afternoon!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Stephen Butterworth

    Cheese fondling LOL.

    Our oldest (9) loves to chew her own claws and tolerates the occasional nail trim. The youngest (3) howls the house down and the only way to do it is tie the poor beastie to the fence and pin her in one place. We tried it at the vet once and three vet assistants plus the vet gave up after one nail; so hysterical was the beast that they had to put her in the crate with her sister. Good times.
    Stay Spindly.

    Liked by 1 person

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