Cody may only be five months old, but he's ahead of the Toddler on one thing--little dude can grow some hair. Like, a LOT of hair. So, last Saturday we took him for his very first hair cut.

We tend to like long-haired dogs best when they are left long-haired, so the idea was less about cutting back the major 80's poof he was rocking and more about doing a little trimmy trimmy here and there so that he would get the experience of having his hair cut. He is in for a life time of grooming appointments, so it's better that he starts getting used to the idea of a stranger with clippers hanging out around his nether regions sooner rather than later. Mr. Husband informed the groomer that she should just pluck the forest he was growing inside his ears, trim up his paws, clean up around his eyes, and maybe shave his booty region for cleanliness reasons.

I know that is what Mr. Husband said because I heard him. Definitely.

That didn't stop the chick from going all Edward Scissorhands on his ass. And head. And back. And everywhere in between. Poor little guy is half the man he was just a few days ago, mostly because she cut off at least two inches of fluff.

Not only was I all sorts of sad face over it, Mr. Husband was, too. In fact, he might be more sad face over it. He keeps fussing at Cody to hurry up and grow back his hair. He really does look awful. As Mr. Husband said, he looks like that scruffy dog an old lady would have if she also had 32 cats. Sort of mutt-like, but too scraggly to even be a mutt, and at first glance, you're not even sure it's a dog.

Cody has apparently taken this criticism very hard. He seemed all happy go lucky at first, but this morning? He totally fell into a deep depression. So deep, in fact, that he thought the only way out of his bad hair month (or two or three) was to just end it all. So, he decided not to chew his treat and managed to lodge the whole damn thing in his throat.

And choke.

And choke.

What Cody forgot to consider was that Mr. Husband has already once saved the suicidal pup's life. And, he did it again this morning. In what can only be called an act of heroics, Mr. Husband shoved his finger down the pup's throat until he puked. It was like an episode of America's Top Model all over our bedroom floor. So fun!

So if you see Cody wandering around town, do us a favor and LIE TO HIM. Tell him he looks great and that you love the new hair cut. I can't take another day of him being all dramatic and whiny because his throat hurts.

(He's fine, btw. I might have to talk to the Academy about honoring him with an Oscar for the acting performance he put on when I checked on him at lunch when he tried to convince me he was dying. Dying pups don't make me insane chasing the other dog around the living room for 45 minutes.)

(Pre-Edward Scissorhands photo, of course. Poor little guy refuses to let me capture his embarrassment digitally.)