Uli is in recovery. Not from relatives sneeking her sips of spiked nog or nibbles of bourbon soaked beef tenderloin. No, Uli is in recovery from her routine being all scrambled up.
You see, Uli is a creature of habit. She likes regiment and order. She knows exactly the time she wants out in the morning. She knows exactly the time her food bowl gets filled--twice a day. She knows exactly where and how to lounge on each family member. She knows exactly where she likes her kennel, and just how her pallet of blankets inside need to be fluffed. She knows the square of yard she relieves herself. She knows she hates to be bathed, and hates a King Ralph home spun grooming.
That was until...
Three days before Christmas Uli's world of routine was scrambled. She was one pissed off pouch! We moved her kennel out of the Red Room, into D's bedroom (just to give flow for Xmas company). Then D bathed our stinky hound, left her trapped downstairs till she dried, while I was washing all the floors.
Uli told us just how she felt, in the way only a dog can.
Shit the floor!
So then she got the clippers for a slight winter trim.
Thus the snub began.
Uli refused to have anything to do with us. She neglected our offers of affection. She stared at the spot longingly where her escape pad use to stand. Not to mention the girls dressed her in her elf T-shirt and Xmas sweater. Uli HATES to play dress-up!! Basically Uli had slipped into a doggie depression. She would sit staring out the French doors, probably plotting against her family. Never breaking her stare to look at us. She was a stone cold hearted dog.
Then came December 26. Without fanfare her Xmas clothes were packed away and her kennel return to its usual location. Quietly, like a thief in the night (except it was high noon) she's sllinked into her kennel for an afternoon nap. The sun beating through the French doors warmed her fur. At that moment I believe I saw the corners of her mouth turn up, in a smile of euphoria.
Our pouch was back!
Bark, bark, hurray!