When Your Dog Accidentally Becomes a Punk Rocker (And You Just Roll With It)

Ever since the pandemic lockdowns, I’ve groomed my own dog. I’m horrible at it. So much so that I introduce her as my ghetto dog, and finish every grooming session with a solid kiss on her soft puppy head and a declaration of “You look RIDICULOUS”. But, after life opened back up, I couldn’t justify the cost of a monthly trip to the groomers again. And, like, serious puppy anxiety in the works. 

So anyway, I set out for another grooming. She was shaking, I was vibing, and all of a sudden I thought to myself ‘wow… a lot of hair just came off with that pass by’. I shrugged it off and then stopped cold:  there was this perfectly straight strip running down my dog's back where the fur was basically buzzed to nothing. Like, skin-showing, might-need-sunscreen nothing.

That's when I realized the clipper guard had fallen off at some point, and I'd been running a naked blade down her spine like I was creating some kind of reverse mohawk situation.

My first thought? "OMG. What have I done? She looks absolutely ridiculous."

My second thought? "Wait. She always looks ridiculous. Who cares?”

And my third thought? “Oh man, I wish my dad was around to see this.” It’s the exact type of ridiculousness that I could see him laughing over. 

Many many years ago, back in my perfectionist era, I would have gotten pretty annoyed at myself. I held myself to such high standards that I probably would have taken courses and become a certified dog groomer before even attempting such a feat on my dog. Why? Looking less than pristine would have felt like a direct reflection of my competence as a responsible adult. (Which, btw, I’m pretty sure is still a fleeting concept).

Then one day, many many years ago, I was speaking with a spiritual mentor and in the middle of our conversation she asked “What would happen if you weren’t perfect?”

The timing hit me hard.

I didn’t have an answer.

What would happen if I wasn’t perfect?

…. Dare I say, nothing?

Life got easy after that. I still demand a lot from myself. Probably unreasonable amounts if I’m honest, but it no longer has to be perfect. Now I expect my mistakes. I believe I can take on super human amounts, but I no longer expect perfection in any of it.

So watching my dog rock her reverse mohawk, realizing that for the next 4-6 weeks she’s going to look like she lost a fight with a lawnmower and the joy in laughing and shrugging it off isn’t lost on me.

If you’re struggling with perfectionism like I used to? I invite you to ask yourself the same question that was posed to me. What would happen if you weren’t perfect?

If you can find a legitimate answer to this, I’d love to hear it.