monsoonmartin

Jon, from The Total Dog and a Little Cat, called at 3pm. They had tried to save Bunk’s lush, shaggy coat—his trademark, the feature that puts the unk in Bunk—but the mats were too inscrutable, the tangles too numerous. Despite our religious brushing regimen, which has been chronicled here, Bunk’s hair was determined to kink, knot and snarl itself into jungly oblivion. And so, though he’d only been scheduled for a sorely-needed bath and a bit of maintenance grooming while at doggy day care, Bunk needed to be closely cropped. I was to pick him up in the evening.

And I did.

It’s not that Jon bungled the cut; on the contrary, he does lovely work. It’s just that when Bunk came out from behind the counter, he looked as though he’d been through some sort of cartoon wringer where Tom comes out stick-thin (but perfectly unharmed) on the other side. He nearly knocked me over with his customary jubilant leap of greeting, so I knew it was him, but I couldn’t shake the sense that someone had stolen half of my dog.

All I could do was gape, and chuckle in disbelief, and shake my head. Actually, I shouldn’t use past tense there; still gawping, still chortling, still waving the noggin to and fro with incredulity from time to time. He’s spindly now, and he almost looks like a...

a...

a poodle. (shudder)

Until his luscious locks grow back—and I’ve been assured, they will grow back, to our desired length—no one will mistake him for goldendoodle or a labradoodle or any other kind of doodle. (He’s still our Bunk-a-doodle, though. Always our boy.)

But truly there are no words for the change that has occurred in Bunk’s appearance. Only photographic evidence can really do it justice. And so...

The Bunk in All His Hirsute, Unshorn Glory, Near End of April

The Bunk, on Same Couch, Pruned Clean of Six Yaks' Worth of HairThe Bunk, Shorn. Bandana = Insult to InjuryThe Bunk, Mown to the Nubs Like a Midsummer Lawn; Furry Arms Do Remind Me of Grover, So There's That

Bunk's powers were in his flowing locks, like Samson, or Fabio.  Now he's just an ordinary dog.  But when his hair grows back, the majesty of The Bunk will rise again...

Monsoon