The World According to Rico – Fighting the condition called Bono Depression

It’s me, Little Puppy Rico. When I was trapped inside the house, during our recent blizzard/freezing cold situation, I laid on my little boy bed (I still do, I can’t let it go) and asked my mom to tell me a story. Well, actually, I asked her for a piece of pizza and a box of Milkbones, but she gave me a story instead.

She said she was frustrated because she needed to get her hair done and the house needed some tending because she’d been so busy.

And that’s when she launched into a story about my Great-Uncle Bono (who was my predecessor in this household) and I just thought I’d tell you all what she told me. I even stayed awake for most of it.

I took notes and wrote down the words of Mama while she told me this bedtime story. These are her words:

“Bono wasn’t really just a dog. He was almost like a human being, as he had mood swings, a keen sense of the emotions emitting from the humans around him and almost an ability to communicate without the benefit of real speech.

And he was extremely vain.

Bono was a Keeshond – picture 50 pounds of actual dog surrounded by so much hair it made him look as if he weighed twice that much (actually I included his photograph at the end of this column, so you can see what I’m talking about. And you can see what I will look like when I’m older).

Bono was a giant ball of fluff with another fluff that was his tail, curling up and over his back.

He was a good-looking dog, most the time. But as all long-haired dogs do, he would start to look matted and disheveled after a few months and it would be time for him to go to the groomer.

We kept on a pretty good schedule for him to get his hair done but if we got too busy and prolonged the activity, he would certainly let us know.

Bono, with his human-like vanity, would mope and sigh when he knew he wasn’t looking his best. He would lie behind a chair with his face in his front paws, instead of spread eagle in the middle of the room as he normally did. He wasn’t as excited to go for a walk in the park because I suppose he thought other dogs might judge him – he would opt for a quick whiz by a tree in the back yard before retreating back to the house for more moping and sighing.

As soon as he started showing these symptoms, we immediately knew it was time to take him to the salon and as soon as possible.

I even created a name for this condition of his – I called it Bono Depression. The clinical definition is ‘the state of feeling bad about oneself due to aesthetic neglect.’

As I sadly looked at my reflection in the mirror yesterday, I saw neglected hair that needed to be cut last week and colored weeks ago. I could sure use a facial.

My house needs to be cleaned, I need to buy eye make-up, I need to scrub the floors. There is a lot that I need to do, but there’s always the issue of time.

There’s never time to do those types of things because all anyone ever does is work and run from one thing to the other.

And the end result, I realized . . . in my case, at least . . . is that I am suffering from Bono Depression.

Granted, it’s not bad enough for me to lay on the floor behind a chair or take a quick whiz in the back yard . . . but if I prolong these personal tasks any longer, that just might be the result.

As I lamented the reality of a runaway life, I also realized it can be slowed down as easy as it is sped up. All I have to do is call it – surrender to the fact I look like crap and my personal life needs some tending.

So it is with great determination that I am going to face my Bono Depression head on and do the only thing that can be done . . . take a day off.

First on the list – get my hair done. I’ll let my stylist, Kat, do whatever she wants because she’s the only one who knows what to do with this mess.

I will find all the spider webs in my house and remove them.

I might clean out the refrigerator.

I might buy some new clothes.

Maybe I’ll pick up a new and exciting air freshener for the vehicle, just to make each morning feel pleasant when I enter.

Maybe I’ll take time to swallow while I eat lunch and try a new flavor of iced tea.

I will sleep later than usual.

And I will turn up the radio a little louder, to a station that I don’t normally listen to.

See, I haven’t even told anyone I’m taking the day off, yet . . . and I already feel my Bono Depression going away.”

Thanks for the story, Mom. And while you are at it, don’t forget to brush my hair too. We don’t want any Rico Depression.

 

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