So, I have about ten million emails in my inbox which I am slowly slogging through (in between reading and responding to list mail and playing games of animated solitaire – procrastination, thy name is… eh, I’ll type it in later), when I get a phone call.
Caller: Do you have puppies?
Me: No, spring litters maybe, blah blah blah
Caller: I want to know about shedding.
Me: That’s when hair falls off the dog.
Caller, annoyed: Yes, I KNOW that. I want to know if Frenchies shed.
Me: Hells YES. I’m wearing black pants, and they look like black and white herringbone tweed. Frenchies shed. Some shed more than others, but they all shed.
Caller: Oh. Because I don’t really want a dog that sheds.
Me: Well, don’t get a Frenchie.
Caller, dejected: But they’re so cute. I mean, if I vacuum say once a week, would there still be hair on the floor?
Me: Yes, not to mention the giant mutant dog hair dust bunnies that would breed under your furniture. I vacuum once a day, and by the next day, there’s a new dog’s worth of hair on the floor. But, then again, I have nine dogs.
Caller: I see. But they all shed, right?
Me: Well, yes. I suppose you could shave them.
Caller: So ALL of them shed, is that what you’re saying?
Me: I think I’ve been pretty clear on that.
Caller: Because I don’t want one that sheds.
Sean, in background: “Jesus Christ! Tell her that they ALL SHED ALL THE FREAKIN TIME AND TO GET THE HELL OVER IT!”
Me: what he said.
As a reminder, here’s a photo of Paris, just after I’d used the furminator on her. That hair? All of it was on Paris, ten minutes before I took the picture.