An hour and ten minutes of slicking brambles out, on the pavement in a parking lot. This is going to kill me. I sold Roo's soft-sided dog crate a guy who had four Goldens. One of them had a good haircut. Roo is going to get one. As it is, I am ready to keel over in general, with a swimming head and a headache that is like knives have been driven to the center of my skull, the extra hour of detangling her is too much. On top of that, any tiny burr I miss, Roo simply tears out. Any miniscule speck - and when a dog has literally hundreds and hundreds of burrs, stickers, seeds and brambles in her coat, you will never get them all out - she tears out. I find clumpfuls of hair lying around. Her arm hair already looks like a three-year-old with a scissors got at her. I think she'll feel better, and, though I know some Golden people disdain getting field trims, it's that or dropping dead in a parking lot. I've let her be a hippie wood nymph since she was groomed early in the year in Mexico. Enough is enough. Roo is going to have to put her Rastafarian hat away.