My amazingly generous mother grooms Dixie. She does a fabulous job. The photos above show the before and after from a past haircut. People are always stopping us to ask who grooms her, and I proudly say my mom does the job. Every two months or so, Dixie reaches a level of shag that leads to a day at Grandma's house. This past Saturday was one of those days.

I was shooting a wedding all day, so it worked out perfectly. When I picked Dixie up at 10:30 that night, she was all trimmed up and gorgeous. For the most part.

I crouched down and looked her square in the face and started giggling. Her whiskers were a mess. I gave my mom a bit of a hard time, because usually her work is impeccable. I get my perfectionistic bent from her, after all. But this is what I saw:
My mom explained that she must have cut Dixie's whiskers while her mouth was open, which accounted for why her chin hair was so much shorter than the sides of her beard.

It was late. We had a good laugh, and Dixie and I headed home. But yesterday I couldn't take it anymore. I pulled out the scissors -- not the fancy expensive dog grooming pair my mom has, but the paper-cutting kind (I can imagine my mom's audible gasp now), and remedied the situation as best I could:
Cute and sporty, huh?

Sometimes you just have to take matters into your own hands.
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