Well, I'm feeling much better--I can even sing again!--I have the wedding service for my sister put together, and I have substitute preachers for the two Sundays this summer when I will be gone. I'm making progress on other projects (the AIDS commemoration, the church's Pride activities, a new church brochure, the grant request), and I don't have to write a sermon this week!
Life is good.
The pooch may not be so sure. DP has long lobbied to have Mr. M. shaved during the summer. He's a Pembroke Welsh Corgi, with a double coat (thick and fluffy close to the skin, tough and harsh on top--keeps them warm and dry on those rainy Welsh hills where they were bred to herd cattle and sheep and kill rats). He's twelve next month, and I've never shaved him in his life. However, he's recently taken to hauling himself up on the bed at night (hauling is the word, when his legs are only about five inches long) so as to be able to place himself directly in the stream of cool air from the air conditioner. That's fine for him, not so great for the humans, who do not appreciate a fur coat sharing the bed in July! So he has an appointment for a shaving today. A spa day, as DP put it--bath, shave, nails clipped.
I have talked to other Corgi owners who have shaved their dogs. Some loved it, running madly around the house as if freed from a burden. Others have been deeply shamed by their nakedness, and tried to hide under the furniture. I have no idea if Mr. M. will be a happy nudist or an embarrased prude.
I once threatened DP that if she shaved Mr. M., I would come home with a tattoo.
That's not happening--today.