Dear Kid,

Me: Come on you. Let’s get you brushed.
Puppy: I like being brushed.
Me: I know. Come on outside.
Puppy: This feels great.
Me: It might even feel better if you stopped squirming.
Puppy: Why are we doing this?
Me: Because you shed. So we’re brushing off fur you’re done with.
Puppy: But you still need it, right?
Me: Huh? What do you mean?
Puppy: You’re brushing the fur off me and on to you. So you need it.
Me: I am rather covered in fur.
Puppy: It looks very nice.
Me: It looks like I’m changing clothes when we go inside.
Puppy: Take good care of my fur. I might want it back some day.

Puppy: I look gorgeous. Don’t want to.
Me: You have to get trimmed.
Puppy: Don’t. Want. To.
Me: It’s not really one of the things you have a choice about. Hold still.
Puppy: It hurts! It hurts!
Me: Getting your fur trimmed does not hurt.
Puppy: It hurts! I’m going to die! Call the EMT! Call Animal Cruelty!
Me: You’re being groomed not garroted. Calm down, silly.
Puppy: It’s awful! All my fur is being taken away. It’s insulting! It’s embarrassing! I’m in pain!
Me: You know we have this conversation every time.
Puppy: I’m filing a complaint!
Me: OK. All done.
Puppy: I look gorgeous.
Me: Yep.
Puppy: And it really didn’t hurt at all.
Me: And the conversation ends the same way every time.
Puppy: With a treat?

Love, Mom

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