Haircut

Well, the sheepdog (as my mother has been calling him) has finally been shorn. It was rather a spur of the moment thing, actually. Last night, while he was playing in his bathtub I thought, "He's entertained; Myra's quiet; where are my scissors?" And there you go. In retrospect, I probably should have waited for a night when Mitch was home, rather than surprising him after a long night in the ICU. Ooops..
--Before--
Aah! What happened to my hair??
Maybe if I comb it, it'll come back...
Hmm, that didn't work.
Oh, well, I'll just have to get used to the new 'do!
We still think he's adorable, but it makes him look awfully grown up!