Her black curly coat is not what any respectable desert bedouin would choose for summer attire, so we decided it was time to give the pooch a haircut (Schnoodles, like poodles have hair, not fur) better suited to the rising daytime temps.
My wife simply stated, "We paid to have this done to her?"
In defense of the groomer, Franny's hair was pretty matted and tangled, so it was I who sadistically instructed the doggy cutter to give our little pooch the Marine buzz -- but to keep the eyebrows for some retinal coverup.
I've gotten used to her like this, but the consensus among the family is that we'll let her curly locks grow back to "before photo" status.
On a positive note, she seems a lot more comfortable during her sunstroked walks and the girls have been treating her like she's a different dog entirely, being a lot more patient and attentive.
Maybe we should all shave our entire bodies and walk around to see if those who interact with us on a daily basis would indeed treat us with more of the good stuff.
The reason why your daughters are treating her like she's a different dog is because she IS a different dog.
You did a bait and switch, didn't you? Because, heck, they don't look at all alike...lol.
btw, I'm still loving the book you recommended. Strange how a book that's supposed to be teaching you about writing can make you laugh outloud sometimes, and wipe tears away at others. Thanks.
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