Torquemada

That is *not* blood on the desk by the clippers, it's coffee. And I am *not* really Torquemada, though the dogs would have you think so. Just because Max put one needy paw to many on my lap while I was typing, just because the nails on said paw are like razors and tore my sleep pants, evil evil dog-mum (aka Torquemada) decided that it was nail clipping day.

Max squirms. His nails are black and white and sensitive, and I must confess there have been previous cut short bloody paw incidents. But not for a while- I'm getting better. After one brief escape, he is cornered and clipped, then slinks off to recover under the bed. poor, poor, poor max.

Bear's nails don't seem to grow- they cauterized them at the vet last time and they haven't grown much since. That is a good thing, because she causes such a fuss that it sounds like she is being slowly killed- nothing quite like the very loud shrieking of a bloodhound voice and all the other animals at the vet freak out.... they said they were not doing it again without sedation.

Jezebelle, to give her credit, is fairly good during the process. (key word: during) her nails are super thick, grow fast and take forever to cut. She mostly stands still like a horse and endures...until it is over. Then she bulled over bear when I was letting bear out- Jezebelle took off at full Belle-speed into the tree farm, in the rain. Followed by me with the leash, in flipflops and (thanks max) torn sleep pants. Over the river and through the wood, she's got a scent and she is not stopping for god, mum or dog treats. Finally got her cornered in a deep ditch, was scaling back up the sides when torn sleep-pants caught on a brier and riiiiiiiiipppppppp . Can you say "full moon in Pender county?" Awesome.