At Long Last Pocket Gets Groomed

I have been walking in a daze for weeks.  My hair has grown so long I can’t see two feet in front of me.  When I curl up, I am sickened by the smell, and then I realize that smell is me!  I am two inches taller because my nails have not been cut in three months.  My anal glands are packed like a family of six going on vacation in a VW bug. Every day I hope the groomer will open, and by sunset, when I hadn’t got as much as a snip, I pray that tomorrow I can smell the sweet scent of dog shampoo fresh from the bottle. 
    My mom has tried to bathe me.  I give her credit for the attempt, but when J.Lo goes out on the town, she doesn’t want her mom styling her. She has a whole team.  If J. Lo went this long without her team working on her, she wouldn’t be dating A-Rod. She would be regulated to a random Knick.
    On Wednesday morning, I saw no sign that the day would be any different than the 80 days that preceded it.  We ate breakfast, my parents showered and prepared for another fascinating day of doing nothing.  Then Daddy got the dusty car seats out of the closet.  I was the first to see them and began to bark like an intact dog who finally smelled a lollipop in heat.  River followed the sound of my yips, and she began to bark too.  We were going somewhere, and there was only one place we ever go to.
    We were placed in our car carriers. They are like backpacks that are secured in the back seat.  As soon as I am in one, I try to worm my way out.  There is nothing worse than a half stuck Pocket on the freeway.
    It took us twenty minutes of barking every time we slowed down, me wiggling, River grunting, Mommy telling us to be quiet, and the back window getting fogged up before we arrived at the groomer.  Mommy and Daddy struggled to get us out of our carriers because they were trying to remove us from the top, and we insisted on going out the bottom even if there is no exit that way. My parents usually carry us in, but one of the groomers came out to get us.  Then I realized they were all wearing masks, and I panicked that we weren’t getting groomed but had been recruited to be in some sort of posse. 
    We were placed in a cage together while the groomers worked on dogs who were as equally grotesque.  The water flowed brown from dirt and who knew what else.  Finally, it was my turn.  First, I received a warm bath, with professional hands that knew how to softly massage my hair and measure the perfect mixture of shampoo and water.  Once I smelled beautiful, I got my hair cut.  I could see the world again, and it looked….well, at least I could see.  Then my nails were trimmed, so I no longer made an infuriating click-clack sound when I walked. It took less than a half-hour for me to transform back to my beautiful state, far from the ragamuffin who had entered the establishment.  Then, it was Reiver’s turn, which took longer, because, as talented as they groomers are, they had less to work with.
    When we were both done, we were carried outside to what I thought would be meet my new posse we found our parents waiting for us.  They said how beautiful we were, which we knew, but it is nice to hear. Soon, we were in our car and on the way home, planning our walk around the neighborhood to bring joy to the embattled residents.
    Getting clean was our first step have to normal. We hope it spreads.