Lily and the secret trousers

One of the things I do not miss about our ancient and now deceased German Shepherd, Chance, is that he was an immensely fluffy dog, from whom one could pull handfuls of wool and then, an hour or so later, do it again. And again. If we had been mad geneticists, or better at knitting, we could have made a whole pack of new dogs.

So now we have a Rottweiler and a Rottie cross. We know Lily's mum is a Rottie, but her dad has always been up for debate - the general consensus is either Collie, or GS, or a combination. Her siblings look like German Shepherds, and she herds people. She is much more anxious and active than Cass, who if she was any more inert, would actually be inanimate. And now that Lily is 2, she has demonstrated a most unwelcome canine trait: secret trousers. Underneath her neat, short black coat, which does not shed too much, has appeared a second coat of long, fine, fawn fluff, which is now covering what seems like the entire house. I have just scoured the upstairs landing with a vaccuum cleaner and it is all fawn fluff.

Grrr.