In Search of Ponies: Fashion over function

High steppin', he is all that and then some. Like an emperor in a new suit, he has no idea that from a distance he looks a lot like a toy poodle, and from up close, a lot like a 3-year-old discovered the scissors.

Winter is that time of year in which the scruff is allowed to flourish and thick, au' naturel doo's are simply more practical.

And it's just downright cool to let the hair grow as it may, especially in an era when "organic" is "novel" if not outright hipsterish.

Unless you're a wiry haired mutt-terrier.

A couple months of au' naturel, and he starts to look like that dirty mop that got forgotten in the corner after a particularly grungy job — evoking an overwhelming urge to wash him in bleach.

And that's not taking into account the odor that gets trapped in the locks that refuse to stay white no matter how much effort is put into keeping them clean.

He even starts to show the weight of his appearance, his confidence drooping and his demeanor dejected.

It makes for a tough call — allow the insulating mop to grow unfettered while the warm but miserable dog's spirit dims and threatens to disappear beneath it, or chop.

Inevitably a full winter of "the hair" begins to seem inhumane despite its warmth and at the first sign of slightly warmer temperatures, it's time.

He starts with his shoulders curved downward, but as the carving of dense hair commences, his back straightens and he begins to stand like he's on a table as Westminster, looking down his pointed nose at the world beneath him.

He of course has no idea that his hair killed the clippers (probably for good this time) only that the buzzing was replaced with a pattern of "snip-snip" sounds.

He also has no idea those snips are leaving distinctive little squares along his fur, or that the tip of his tail is suddenly shaped like a lions and his nose has been trimmed in such a way as to make a Mongolian emperor green with envy – just for fun.

By the time he gets dunked in the tub and scrubbed, he thinks he has ascended.

After a mad tear hopping and spinning around the house scooting and burrowing into every blanket and pillow he can find, it is clear, he would prefer fashion over function any day.

And when he makes his debut to the pack, oh does he strut, not just to display the new doo, but as if to rub it in that he's the favorite.

Not all dogs like bath time, and for some it seems a fate worse than death.

But for others, something about a fresh haircut and a good scrub just brings out that inner-diva, even in the hardiest of rural dirt devils.

There is also a lightness of spirit and spring in the step of a freshly washed pooch which leaves only the obvious explanation that grit, grime and insulation weigh a lot more logically than they do physically.

Of course in some pooches the levity of lost weight can be too much too fast, and they are struck by the sudden and overwhelming fear that they may float away — A fear that drives them to go roll around in the dirt in an effort to stabilize the gravitational balance.

Without a doubt there is some unspoken interaction at play, particularly the fact that the humans no longer express aversion and wrinkle their noses, rejecting overtures of affection and pushing said dirt devil to the floor.

Instead they are far more likely to welcome the freshly fluffed, even going so far as to make smoochy noises and make room in the personal-space bubble.

That alone has to be as close as it gets to a coronation and makes the buzzing, snipping, scrubbing weightlessness worth it — even if it does only last until the next trip outside.

Sharna Johnson is a writer who is always searching for ponies. You can reach her at: [email protected] or on the web at: http://www.insearchofponies.blogspot.com