Goodbye, Little Miss Rastafarian Hippie Wood Nymph

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.

Roo's shaggy wolf days are about to come to a close, I hope.

Roo's shaggy wolf days are about to come to a close, I hope.