Guess who needs a bath and a hair cut. I would love some of Mr Dermott's intuition because he knows I'm talking about a bath and a hair cut and that's why he's "hiding" under our dining table. I fail to understand why the mere mention of a hair cut sends him into panic mode. We select a nice sunny spot on the deck and the gentle humming of the clippers practically sends me to sleep. Not so him. He does everything in his power to make the job as difficult as he can in the hope that I will leave him be and let him go back to sleeping on the sofa. He just doesn't care whether or not he looks like a scruff bag.
All done for the moment and we're back on the sofa and smelling all lovely. It's actually a constant work in progress as we continue to trim bits we've missed for the next week or so. What a spoilt baby.
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