Yesterday we visited a colleague who has a lovely lab puppy girl, and Molly had a great time playing with Sophie, particularly running into the little wooded area behind the house.
Unfortunately, Miss Molly came home with a not-so-lovely clump or three of thistles in her coat. And she does *not* love being groomed, especially as a solution to this particular problem.
I think #2 Son will have to hold her down while I comb through her coat.
I do not love this, either.
It’s Tuesday night, and I am neither clever nor lyrical. My kitchen faucet is leaking, my dog is thistly, and I have done not-nearly-enough knitting on my clapotis for the Knitting Olympics. I, too, have thistles in my coat. Who will groom me?