May 7, 2007

White Dog was very interested in the process as Steve cut my hair. First she thought he was hurting me; she needed to sniff me to make sure I was ok. Then White Dog fixated on the falling hanks of hair; she had to be shoo'ed from the kitchen to keep from eating them. When Steve swept up the hair--or rather, tried to--White Dog charged in from the doorway to "help." Finally, as I hung my head into the shower to wash away the tiny clippings around my ears, White Dog felt compelled to investigate the soapy water at the bottom of the tub. I did pass the stringent "head sniff" test.