Mom had that crazy look in her eye last night, and I saw her walking around with scissors. That's definitely not a good sign. Mom is NOT a licensed doggie beautician.
I tried to hide (of course), but she caught me and put me into the sink of torture...
I tried to plot my escape, with no luck.
Mom was too quick for me. She held my chin with one hand and went to town with the scissors in the other hand. I did my best to look super duper pathetic.
Behold, some of the carnage from my forehead, nose, and chin furs, displayed next to Mom's scissors of torture:
Mom's finished product:
Although I hated having my furs trimmed, I do have to give Mom some credit for at least doing a half-way presentable job this time. It was HORRIBLE the last time she took it upon herself to trim me. That was so embarrassing.
And at least I can finally see again...and I didn't have to go to the groomer's for an entire afternoon...