My kids love to come over for Sunday dinner, but they hate sitting on soft surfaces. I'll be having a conversation with one of them and suddenly, the child will leap up as if being consumed by Army ants. The arms start flapping, the eyes go back into the head, and the child retreats into the bathroom. Never fails. That's because Scott and I live in a very hairy place. We have three dogs, two pugs and a retriever, and two of them shed pounds of fine blond fur. It's everywhere, all over the carpets, in the muffin mix, on my pillows. No matter how much I scrub and vaccuum, it's like having tribbles. The fur just keeps multiplying. Last year, my daughter's friend offered to groom the dogs, as a promotion for her new business and she came in and got to work. An hour later, Hannah the retriever was shorn like a sheep, Gordie, the black pug was so well polished, I could actually see my face on his backside. Then Krystle went for Ming, the fawn pug. Big mista...
More than a million served!