Here is a shot of the fur I removed from my molting dog in roughly five minutes. Weapons used: My hands. Yes, that’s right I just plucked her furry globular ejections right off of her. Trust me, she didn’t feel it.
This is by no means my only ‘catch’. It’s like this every night while she blows her coat. Note the maple leaf, bottom left of the photo. Missing from the photo: The Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup paper I found.
The scary part about all this is I don’t mind. She’s that much of a joy. And, after all, she has to shed that wooly undercoat that hides beneath her soft outer coat — so she can grow a newer, stronger one for winter, when she will romp around in the deep snow, chasing This and then That, never feeling a thing against the cold, and then return inside encrusted in the white stuff, acting like she just corralled the sheep. And while I brush it all off and it drips onto the floor, and I blow-dry her and then symmetrically place her horse blankey on her, ‘just so,” she smiles - and I am reminded of how much work this all is – until the wrong person walks onto my property and she scares the living crap out of him, or until the insanely pesky Jehovah’s Witnesses forget to check their Warning Notes and try to show up at the front door. Briefly. Very briefly.
When my dog blows her coat, it always reminds me of the movie, Gremlins, when Billy accidentally got the Mogwai wet and all these balls of fur fly off him, rapidly transitioning into new little Mogwais. Thank Goodness my dog’s blow balls don’t turn into little reproductions of her own self, especially not a reproduction with an interesting stripe on its head like in the video clip below.
Alas, she is scheduled to be groomed on Thursday, so the groomer will have to worry about the stern warning:
“…don’t feed him after midnight, and whatever you do, don’t get him wet”.
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