The Brush Off

When a dog like Michael sheds, it is momentous.  His coat is thick, rich, lush, and mainly black as ebony.  Just as I never understood why chickens moult just before winter, I don't understand why Michael loses his insulation just before the start of cold weather, but lose it he does.  When he starts looking a little ragged around the edges and clumps of fur drift across the room like tumbleweeds, I know it's time to get out the slicker brush and go at it.

My fella wasn't too sure about this process in the beginning, but with a little practice and patience, I think he's come to enjoy it.  Now all I have to do is pat my leg and show him the brush and he comes right to me.  It's up to him where I get to work, right side, left, shoulders, back, belly or butt.  So far, I've curried enough fur to create two good-sized Pomeranians or maybe six long-hair Chihuahuas, and we're not done yet.  Michael is a serious shedder.

We lost power again for a couple of long days and nights.  I don't know if PG&E is covering their butts or punishing we who complain, but it's a real thing now and comes out of nowhere.

There has been a real cool down in the weather (yay!) and there was a dab of rain last night.  Not enough to do any good and probably not enough to even settle the dust, but I'll take it.

Besides giving Michael the brush off, I need to get some routine back in my life.  I thrive on the tried and true, and lately all there's been was chaos.

Stay safe.  Be well.