I keep telling him, “Don’t blame me. Blame that ancestor who decided she just had to get it on with a Newfie.”
When Little Bear was a puppy, all the dogs used to rush outdoors to do their business the moment they could bully me out of bed in the morning. LB followed the pack, but even at an early age he grew willful about coming back inside. He stopped being allowed outdoors unsupervised, and as compensation he started every morning with a full-contact belly scratch and he thought that was fine. He thought it was so fine, in fact, that to this day it’s a crime against nature for me to come down the ladder and do any other thing besides get down on the floor with LB and make a big fuss over him. Every damn morning.
Unfortunately for LB it’s April, which means his shedding season is well under way, which means the Evil Undercoat Brush has joined the festivities. LB does not like that brush, not one little bit. I don’t blame him; over the years it may have made contact with various sensitive spots hidden in all that foliage once or twice or ten times.
Hey, it’s not my fault. I’m just doing my duty here. I blame his indiscriminate ancestors.