to going to the farm is getting burrs in my hair.
Lets face it, I’m a really pretty girl, with really pretty hair. EVERYONE says so. And I’m proud of my looks, some say it’s a little frivolous, I say it’s honest. Anyway, I don’t like having my hair messed with. It’s a little curly and very thick, actually luxurious is the perfect word for it; but when it gets stuff in it---yuck. Dad seems to have a lot of patience and gets some perverted joy out of pulling my hair. He will work lots of minutes (feels like hours to me) pulling and tugging, taking them out one by one. And they expect me to be patient, (not one of my virtue's) and just stand there, letting him pull and pull. I have to admit I was more patient that day, than normal. Something to do with all those people who needed to be impressed with me, and needing to be beautiful, so all those other dogs will bow to my will.
To be honest it is a small price to pay, to be able to run free with my brub and that pesky Andy. And something I’d be willing to do any day.
So here’s to you never having to have your hair pulled. And always being able to run free, with your friends.
Remember I’m here if you need me.
Love, a burr free,
Annie
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