It broke my heart.
It made me feel like the worst mother in the whole world.
Some days I would feel sick in the stomach for hours.
And then when I picked my boy up he would be happily playing.
The staff would report that it had been a "lovely day".
And I'd feel happily and relieved - until the next day and we'd do it all again.
So it was today with my fur babies.
As soon as the car pulled up outside the groomers the whinging started.
It developed into a hard core pulling towards the door out of there as the time came to hand them over.
But I know you have to be cruel to be kind so I handed them over and left.
The agreed pick up time was 3pm.
When I got there Rumple was finished but Winkle was still on the grooming table with the finishing touches being applied.
She was being as good as gold, as quiet as a mouse and as still as a statue.
I wondered if Winkle had a doppelganger, an unusually well behaved body double.
She was clearly not under the influence of a sedative, she was just content.
And then just to confirm my observations she delivered a lick to the face of the groomer.
Seriously.
Sorry Winkle, your cover is blown.
That "woe is me" act will not work ever again... well not until next time.
Parent guilt defies all logic.
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