The day Rocky came back from the groomer looking like a stranger

Rocky is a two-year-old mixed-breed girl with a scruffy brown coat and an opinion about everything. I took her to a grooming salon near my apartment in Silom for her first proper trim. I asked for a tidy look, nothing dramatic, and the groomer nodded with the kind of smile that should have warned me. When I came to collect her, I did not recognize her at first. She had a neat little beard, a pompom on her tail and a bow tied to one ear. She looked offended, and so did her eyebrows, which had been shaved slightly by accident. She walked out with her head held high, as if it had all been her idea. In the taxi she sat on my lap, sniffing her own tail and sneezing at the bow. By the evening she had rolled on the carpet so many times that most of the bow had disappeared. Next time I will simply tell the groomer 'please no bows'. Rocky has already started eyeing the salon door with suspicion.