As a young adult, I begged and begged for a dog. My parents are not 'animal people' and almost every animal we ever had was because of me and my aforementioned begging. So when I finally wore them down and got a dog, all responsibility for the animal fell to me (though he was only my dog when he needed something, otherwise his moniker was family dog).
The dog was a German Shepard Keeshond mix. Thus, he had lots and lots of crazy thick hair. Which is why he sometimes had dingleballs.
For those of you not 'in the know,' a dingleball is a little ball of crap that hangs around, rather than falling to the ground as gravity intended. And guess who in my household got to deal with dingleballs?? Come on, guess.
Now, grown up (and the owner of sleek dogs with very short hair) I realize that I continue to be the groomer of dingleballs in my family. If shit goes wrong, I'm the one everyone calls.
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