Mr. B-sharp
March 11, 2008, 2008

My dog is turning into a four-legged metrosexual. Spouse and I took him over to �Barks-n-Bubbles� for a session with his stylist on Saturday. When we picked him up a couple of hours later, he was a fragrant, well-groomed masterpiece-- bathed, brushed, trimmed, pedicured, and wearing a seasonally themed bandanna (black, with emerald-green shamrocks and gold sparkles).

A bandanna which he has embraced as the very signature of his look, apparently�every time we take it off of him, he pouts and stares at it and vocalizes and generally acts up until we return it to his neck.

At the risk of sounding like a bowl of petunias�oh, no�not again.

My late, great German Shepard, Bruno, was such a dog. Mister Bandanna. Of his own choice�I would never force a dog to wear one. But back in the days when I had a pageboy, I always tied it away from my face using a rolled-up bandanna for a headband. Bruns used to hunt out the ones I�d taken off and play a game�stick your nose through and shake your head till the scarf is around your neck. And since there were usually half-a-dozen of them lying around the house at any time, Bruno had plenty of chances to perfect his little maneuver. This was his thing, and he was seriously into it.

After a while, I had to start buying him his own. Some time after that, it seemed like every one who knew him was buying him bandannas. Souvenirs from trips, an entire wardrobe of holiday specific prints (including a picnic-themed one for Labor Day!), and classic paisleys in every color of the rainbow.

When he passed away, he owned around 75 bandannas. He also owned the better part of my underwear drawer, for storage. That dog had a bigger wardrobe than me and Spouse put together. Every load of laundry I did contained at least one �damn-danner�, as we used to call them.

I repeat--oh, no�not again.