October 13, 2019

White Dog long ago had advised that the only way we would get Zsofia to cooperate would be with a surprise attack. Zso HATES having her feet touched and just seeing another member of the White Dog Army being groomed sends her dashing into the yard.

This morning our Darkest White Dog stretched alongside on the bed as I had my breakfast. She was pressed close and relaxed. I slid my arm over her back and she moved to rest her head on my knee. As I moved the arm draping her so that my forearm and hand were between her front legs and stroking her chest, I suggested quietly to Steve that opportunity might be knocking.

Thankfully we communicated well enough that he stood and pulled the Dremel and the nail clippers from the drawer. Zso went stiff as he turned on the small sander. "OK, lets not use that; let's just clip," I suggested" as Zso commenced trying to twist and buck out of my grip. I was reminded that My Itty Bitty Baby as a young well muscled girl of 50lbs. My arms and shoulder did the math to determine resistance.

I talked to her the entire time and encouraged her bravery. Two desperate-sounding pleas brought everyone in to defend Zso but no one challenged my command to "Wait!" Steve efficiently held a jerking athlete's leg tightly, swiftly clipped nails MUCH in need of trimming, and then moved on. In no time, or in eons of Sibe Time, the task was complete.

"You was so brave and patient," I cooed. "Now, for a treat. Yes a good one not a tiny training cookie." She took it and headed out to the yard.