I shaved my brother’s dog into a lion.

Whoops a daisies.

Ushi is a doodle, so he doesn’t shed, he just outwardly fluffs into infinite floofiness. He’s the damn cutest thing. He looks like a giant Koosh ball.

Since we’ve been watching him and his brother, the little otterpup Diego (a scotchi mutt) since summer, Ushi has ballooned into a giant pom pom who frequently (see: always) rolls and rubs his back in dirt. Or mud, depending on precipitation.

Then he packs it all up into his fur — tumbleweeds, broken branches, moldy leaves, stray cat appendages, 7-Eleven coffee cups and all — and unpacks it inside my home with a violent shake. It’s become quite the dust storm in here, chock-full of sneezes and jammed-up sinuses.

Something had to be done.

“We just shave him ourselves,” my brother said. “If you take him to a groomer, they will give him one of those dumbass poodle cuts.”

Oh you just wait, my dear brother.

So I ordered a pet shaver with various guard combs, with the intent to turn him from Wasabi the Walking Bale of Hay Pekingese to perhaps a well-kempt semi-floofball, curls still intact.

Just a trim. An inch off the top. Just the tips.

So maybe I had some wine. It was my night off from responsibility. I laid out a sheet and put the walking dust storm on top of it in the kitchen and started the bzzzzzz. (My buzz already intact.) Those curls refused all of the guards. So I tried it bare ass. Then the buzzer’s battery died and only half of Ushi was shaved.

So now we have a lion. And I haven’t fixed him. My kid thinks he looks creepy and my mom wants to buy him sweatpants.

But I dig it. I think Ushi is a fan, too. I cover up his ass with a blanket on the couch when we’re snuggling and I don’t let him go in direct sunlight so his pink skin doesn’t burn.

It’ll grow back, Ushi. I promise.

At least that’s what my mom told me after I got a haircut at the airport when I was 8 years old. (Who gets a haircut at the airport?) I pointed to my past-the-shoulder flowing locks and told the non-English speaking stylist, “Just an inch off the bottom, please.”

I walked out of there nearly bald.

So I don’t want to hear another word from you, young man. Now go lay down and look cute.

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