I have a few problems, and one of them is that I have three dogs. I don't think I've explained this reality, as I've hardly written anything here in the last few years. This is what happened:

We had one dog, Teddy, a perennial puppy whose vertical jump measures at least four feet, whom we welcomed into our family in 2015.

Next, it seemed like an excellent idea to get a pandemic pup in 2020. Though it was embarrassing to procure a cashier's check for "Cockapoo of Excellence" as the world shut down, I stand by that decision. Two dogs is great.

The third dog, we couldn't have predicted. Skip was my late brother Kevin's constant companion and loyal pal. When Kevin died suddenly in April 2021, the only right thing to do was to add Skip to what could loosely be called a pack. Skip is a weird little guy and behaves not a ton like a dog, so "pack" seems like a stretch. 

Anyway, Skip is one of us now, and I think is about 13 years old. His eyesight and hearing are going fast.

Ok, and also, all three dogs need regular haircuts. They're those kinds of dogs. Megan, the best groomer, books out months in advance, and I can never call on time. So, sometimes, I have to clip them. It's harder than it looks.

Here are some of the comments I've received before, during, or after trying to groom the dogs:

• "Oh, KC, please don't."
• "Mom, you did them dirty."
• "Let's leave it to the professionals."
• "It looks like they're diseased."

• "Do they have mange?"