Sophie and Bean are Malitpoos, a cross between Maltese and Poodle. They grow hair like Rapunsel. Grows and grows until someone cuts it off. Usually me. Because a groomer takes one look at them and puts the clippers on ‘scalp’. Just wack it off down to the skin. Poor babies look like rotisserie chickens for a couple of weeks, until a little growth comes in.

But the groomers don’t really have a choice. My best beloved puppies tend to get a wee bit matted. Think steel wool…and that’s Bean’s hair. Curly steel wool. Sophie’s coat is deceptively soft and wavy. But it’s just as rowdy as her brother’s.

Both of them are like velcro. And since we live in the forest and they’re low to the ground…ah, keeping them groomed would be a full time job. They attract every twig, every burr, every pine needle on the trail. The ones that don’t come off on the furniture are like pearls, working their way deep into the coat, twisting the hair around until another dreadlock is formed.

By this time of year the coats are pretty long. Not a bad thing if it was winter. But winter hasn’t happened this year. So Sophie got a hair cut. It was only logical. She was sitting on my lap, the scissors were handy. Fate. Whatever. Sophie has a new ‘doo, except for her face. And one or two of her legs. Face has to wait until I can find the blunt edge scissors. Legs have to wait until we’re both in the mood.

sophies-hair

This is what I got off her. Oh? Just dog hair. What’s the big deal?

sophie checking her hair

Got enough hair to make another dog! That’s the big deal.

Sophie's hair

Really, look at that! But it won’t play!

Sophie

Next comes the face. Someday.

Bean

Bean knows he’s next. Not now, but soon. He’ll keep his distance for a little while.