Parma Violet Tea: Hair of the Dog (by Hetty)

Skanky Cyril has been driving mum crazy. Everywhere we go is a mud bath at the moment, and Cyril, half hound, half hippo, is a passionate dirt wallower. He loves to marinate up to his oxters in black, smelly mud. He just can't help himself! Mum told him he needed a spruce-up and haircut. She said he was letting the side down. Let's face it, he has an elegant and sophisticated sister (that would be me) so he can't go around looking like a treacle-covered Mick Hucknall.

I, of course, am naturally beautiful, mum knows that. I am just perfect as I am. I need no cosmetic enhancements. I am fortunate that way. I also have the perfect figure - I can eat anything: a kilo of raw spaghetti, a month's supply of pigs' ears, a whole tray of cheese scones fresh from the oven (mmmmmm). I don't put on so much as an ounce. I am as slender as a reed. I think mum is jealous of my metabolism. So, I try to help her out, by pinching as much of her food as I can. Those cheese scones, for example, would have gone straight to her arse. I was doing her a favour! Mum doesn't always appreciate these kindhearted and selfless gestures though.

Look at my waspish waist here, in the park. You wouldn't think there was room for 12 jumbo cheese scones in that flat belly, would you? Mum was talking about size 'O' dogs the other day. I thought she meant me, but actually, it turns out it was Kate Moss she was referring to.

Anyway, to refresh your memory. This is Cyril, as he was BEFORE his cosmetic surgery. (Look at the gormless simpleton. You would think he'd never seen snow before!)

So, on Friday, mum bustled Cyril into the car and whisked him off to The Hair of the Dog poochy poodle parlour. She had to leave him there for almost 3 hours! That just goes to show you what a doggy disgrace he was. I went with mum to collect him. We couldn't see through the window when we arrived. It was all steamed up! I thought they must have been boiling him up in a big pot, like a lobster!

When we went in Cyril was stood on a table with a noose round his neck! Yippeee!!! I thought my prayers had been answered! Sadly though, the noose was just to keep him still while he was trimmed.

Well, I had to rub my mince-pies. He looked like a totally different dog. The nice lady let me through so I could investigate further. I gave him a comforting lick. He tasted of soap and perfume. He was pleased to see me and mum though, he started yelping with excitement. And wriggling like he had the worms. That was not a good idea, not while those clippers were whirring and whizzing around his privates! (he he he).

I am quite upset about what happened next. (gulp) Everyone in the pooch parlour was cooing over that hairbrained hound, saying how gorgeous he looked. I felt like vomiting those cheese scones all over the floor, I can tell you. But things were about to get even worse.

'Lisa, run that brush through Hetty and trim her eyebrows will you? Cyril can't go home with a scruffy, unkempt sister. Not when he is looking so handsome.'

Now hold it right there lady, I thought. My dander was up! How dare she! UNKEMPT!! SCRUFFY!! Me? A hound of my breeding and calibre?

But . . . . . I must say, the brush did feel sooooo relaxing. She even gave me a spritz of doggy perfume. Oh, it was soooo aromantic and soothing. Just as the scissors came out Mum stepped in and firmly put her foot down. She wouldn't allow them anywhere near my eyebrows!

'I've got a bit of a thing for rampant eyebrows' mum explained "I like the Dennis Healy look.'

I am not sure who this Dennis Healy cur is. I expect he was some slender, sophisticated and magnificent Best in Show champion lurcher. Here I am, proudly showing off my Dennis Healys.

So, this is Cyril AFTER his £30 treatment!!! Mum says he is a sleek, silver fox, like Cary Grant. He does look sophisticated (but don't tell him I said that). I am quite proud to be seen with him now. Although, I am worried now he is more streamlined and aerodynamic he'll be harder to catch when we play chase.

The funniest thing was when we got home. Our doddery old Dalmatian brother Kipper didn't even recognise Cyril. He thought a new dog had come in! I tried to tell the spotty old fool, but he is as deaf as a post and didn't hear me.

Here we are. The Underscore lurchers. All spruced up and ready for action. Just gorgeous. As Sally Bowles would say:

'Divine decadence darling!'