It was time. Time to give the dogs their summer do and shave them down. Griffin is a good boy and comes and sits to get shaved, if a bit forlorn. It takes two of us to shave down Missy, who is less than half Griffin’s size. She is just so wiggly and everything tickles. But it is done, and they are much happier black dogs in this Texas heat. We had enough hair to make a new dog. Literally. I’m quite impressed with my eldest’s fast sculpting; she even arranged the white hairs on the chest.

No, I didn’t keep the fur to spin. My dogs produce wiry hair with no crimp which I have not figured out how to spin, and the thought of a hair shirt is not a pleasant one.