Unicorns have NOTHING on our dog Lollipop. Why? For one, Lollipop is cute and fluffy (not sleek) and for another, she is real. Today, our suspicious canine refused to follow me down the basement stairs. I coaxed in my most high-pitched, sing-songy "Momma" voice to no avail. Lolly was not having it. I had to trudge back up the stairs and heft her chubby, matted bum down the stairs and then hoist her up to the washer where I got to work. I brushed, she sat. I cajoled and threatened, she sat. I talked nicely and made my voice drip with sweetness, still, she sat. Lolly did not enjoy what I had hoped would be a bonding experience. What was I doing? Brushing her of course! The above picture is the result. I brushed and trimmed out the matted chunks. I began on her right side and then spun her about to do the left. I did her back and then her tail, paws, face and tummy. Then, I spun her about to start over. As she sat and stood and sat and stood, I was determined not to be deterred in my mission to brush her to achieve maximum fluffiness. I think I succeeded.
We are expecting yet another nor'easter storm later today so a hair cut, which is what Lolly desperately needs, is out of the question. Lolly sat on the washer, sliding about and utterly miserable. I grabbed and brushed, grabbed and brushed. Lolly dodged and sat, dodged and sat. When the brushing ordeal was over and a yummy treat safely between her teeth, she pranced about so proud and complacent, just the way any unicorn worth its salt would do. I will take my cute, fluffy little turd of a dog any day, even if she doesn't poop rainbows.
Avid home cook and passionate instructor