Safety scissors my ass

You know it never bodes well when Little Dog is off by himself being quiet.  This afternoon, he headed off to the upstairs bathroom on his own and we should have known.  See, this bathroom doesn't work, there is no reason for him to be in there, so when Mr. Dog called to him and he said he was "just checking some things out in the bedroom" we should have known.
It wasn't until he came closer that we noticed the change.
"Did you cut your hair?" asked Mr. Dog.
"No," said Little Dog, sounding slightly offended by the question.  But the evidence was pretty clear.  His bangs, usually long and slightly wavy, were mostly gone.  I couldn't help but giggle.
"It's ok if you cut your hair.  I don't want you to do it again, but I won't be mad at you," I said.
"Ok, I did.  They were just in my eyes," he said.

"Alright, let's not do it again, ok.  And now we need to get your hair cut." And off we went to the barber shop.  Luckily they have drop in appointments.  But Little Dog didn't want a haircut.  He likes his hair long (and so do I but his little scissor trick undid that look).  He didn't want a clipper cut.  Finally I offered a mohawk or a less extreme fauxhawk and he agreed.
The wait was long, and Little Dog tried to talk me out of a haircut several times.  He tried to reassure me that no one would notice his hair.  They would, I assured him.
We finally got the cut (that unfortunately required a bit of fixing from me when we got home- somehow the guy just didn't get that I was working AGAINST odd chops in the bangs and that really long piece on one side just emphasized the place where the bangs had been chopped away on the other side).
When I tried to snap a photo of his new do, Little Dog kept sticking out a pouty lip.  I guess it fits with the tough guy image he's cultivating, as long as he's still my baby.