Eleven Pipers Piping

Pipers makes me think of bagpipes, and bagpipes make me think of kilts. Unfortunately, my eyeballs were once seared by a series of photos sent to me in email of a line of men in uniforms which included kilts, but not always underwear. I deleted the email immediately, but the damage was done. Therefore I will not dwell on pipers, bagpipes, or kilts in this post.

In fact, I'll change the words. On the eleventh day of Christmas, my sweet Howie gave to me:

Eleven Pounds of Dog Hair!

Now why Howie is shedding out his undercoat at this time of year is beyond me. He started letting loose lumps and chunks of fur two weeks ago or more. He's not ill, and now that all that loose stuff is off him, his striped coat is soft and shiny again. It has been abnormally warm -- in the 60's during the day ... but only for a few days.

I'd hazard that it means an early spring, but the horse still looks like a wooly mammoth with no sign of getting rid of extra hair.

This, by the way, is not all the loose hair I could have combed out of his undercoat. I quit because my arms were tired, and static electricity was attracting more hair to my face and nose than I cared to deal with. 

We had just finished a short and gentle walk (about 30 minutes) around neighborhood streets and two small blocs of almond orchards, and the brushing was the perfect finale for How. He became a limp dog, and relaxed into a nap.

Maybe my faithful beast just knew I needed something special to take my mind off ... well, never mind.