My dearest friend has never said a word to me. I believe she would if only she could talk and I’ve asked her at times to please talk to me. This week, however, even if she could talk I think she wouldn’t.

Perhaps you’ve followed the recounting of Toti Nonna’s haircut on Instagram this week. Seems an ordinary enough task but as an old dog it really isn’t. It becomes a logistical endeavor complete with bribery, deceit, and contrition.

First, and here’s where I may have gone wrong, I wait as long as I can to begin the grooming planning. All through the winter her hair gets longer and wider and fluffier and woolier. She could actually be shorn for a sweater if I was that weird kind of Martha Stewart industrious.

Then we set the date, early in the month so that I can put her flea and tick repellent on afterward without it being washed off at the groomer. Then comes the deception, let’s go for a ride in the car for absolutely no reason. She knows what each ride is about like going to Fedex, I wave the Fedex envelopes, like going to Gramma’s I grab the bag of clean laundry and use a special shorter leash. So when we begin to go for a ride using the shorter leash and don’t wind up at Gramma’s I believe I’m not fooling her in the least but I carry on in my delusion.

Then the day comes and I grab the short leash and a “special” cookie, really who the hell am I kidding, and off we go to visit Aunt Sara at Petco. She will pee several times before we go in, even if there’s nothing left she will eeek out another drop. One time she even tried to poop as soon as we got inside the store, it didn’t work. We didn’t turn around. We weren’t even embarrassed because we go so early in the morning no one even saw us.

Sara comes out and coos and coddles her but she puts on the big shake. Every part of her body begins to tremble, it is unbelievably effective in ripping my heart out. And now I have to walk out the door and leave her there. She can throw a guilt producing pout over her shoulder like nothing I’ve ever seen before.

Several hours later I get the call to come pick her up. Those several hours feel like an eternity, the quiet the settles over the house when she’s not around is deafening. No nails clicking on the wood floors, no barking at the FedEx guy, no snoring. I can’t work without snoring in the background. I can’t wait to go and get her.

She is beautiful. She looks so thin and healthy and young. All her gray muzzle is under her chin, it hasn’t crept up around her face yet. Her belly is grey and brindled. She doesn’t give a good God damn that I am happy to see her and making a fuss. GET ME OUT OF HERE.

Once in the car she pants all the way home. Once in the door she drinks a gallon of water. Once she checks the entire house to see that everything is alright she puts on the stink eye and goes to sleep. She is exhausted. She ain’t happy. She just ain’t having anything to do with me.

Somewhere in the middle of the night she will sneak up on the bed and curl up in the crook of my legs. All is forgiven in the wee hours but she is far from recovered. She will sleep the next two days away, do what she has to outside and come back quickly.

Today I grabbed the short leash to go to Gramma’s but she reserved her excitement until after I had the clean laundry bag in my hand to walk out the door. All is right with the world now that she is going to Gramma’s. Gramma thinks so too and while my dearest one still hasn’t said a word to me I’m pretty sure I’ve been forgiven. For the love of an old dog I would do anything.