Raspberry: Your dog’s dandruff shampoo is over-scented. You think it makes your dog smell fresh and nice. Mister Schnauzenheimer, on the other hand, thinks that you’re subjecting him to a strange and subtle form of sensory and psychological torture each time you scrub that soapy, minty-green cocktail of aromas into his fur. Why would you want your dog to smell like artificial linen raindrops? For that matter, why would you want your coffee to taste like a raspberry? I just don’t get it.
Vanilla: You’re a responsible dog owner who gives your dog regular dandruff shampoo baths with the same dandruff shampoo you’ve been using for years. As in, the same bottle. You’ve never bought a new bottle. It saves you a lot of money, but it also slightly bends the laws of reality, creating a small rift in the fabric of the universe which will inevitably widen until there is no undoing the damage you have done, so is it really worth it?
Cinnamon Dolce: Your dog’s dandruff shampoo is far too expensive. You know that just because one product costs $57 more than similar products doesn’t mean it’s actually worth that much more, right? See, this is why you had to assume a fake identity and move to Norway to get rid of your debts. And now the whole cycle is starting all over again with something as innocuous as dog dandruff shampoo. It’s not too late. You can stop this before you have to leave your new life as Sigurd Michlevelterskn behind.
Caramel: Just like you’re never sure of whether to pronounce it “car-uh-mel” or “care-uh-mel” and so alternate between the two when you order, and were embarrassed about alternating between the two and so pretended to be a different person when you pronounced it differently, and so got led into a surprisingly satisfying double life which your therapist says is unhealthy but which you find makes for no end of practical joke opportunities, so you also have never been able to decide on a brand of dandruff shampoo for your dog. That’s fine, probably. I’m not a veterinarian, I have no idea whether it’s best to settle upon one formulation or to switch out the formulation so as to not irritate your dog’s skin with repeated exposure to the same ingredients. Don’t ask me.
Classic: You basic. Your dog has had dandruff for years but because you never think outside the box you never even thought of treating it, did you? See, people like you are why we’re still burdened by a capitalist government which at best fills the needs of the few while ignoring the needs of the many. But you have to keep ordering classic syrup, don’t you?
Peppermint: You only give your dog dandruff shampoo for special occasions, which means that the rest of the year they have worse dandruff than usual because their skin compensates for it. Or something. Believe me, I’m a scientist. Or, rather, I could be, if I earned the necessary degree. Not a veterinarian, though, remember? Anyway, it’s unhealthy, and also peppermint in coffee is disgusting. Merry Christmas.
Toffee Nut: Why are you reading this? You don’t even have a dog, you only have three exotic macaws, and they’ve never had any sort of dandruff problem. You have better things to do with your life.
Hazelnut: You only order hazelnut because it has a pretty sound to it, and you order the dog dandruff shampoo with the most attractive packaging regardless of actual ingredients or worth. That’s how you ended up with your most recent ex, after all. And the one before that, and the one before that. The one before that was just bad luck; it could have happened to anyone. Learn to see past the outside packaging, and into the dandruff-controlling liquid ooze interior. Your life will be richer for it, my child.