Whitefish River every little thing you do

I'll do it meself, then- Meylodi freed herself from his fur and sat beside him. He was a little pup sometimes, wasn't he? Thinking he didn't need to eat or be clean to do what he wanted. Her tongue ran over his fur and bit through the mats. He'd need to shake himself free of the loose fur and dirt that accumulated under his pelt.

Yer tir'd, an' hungry -, she continued speaking between licks, often stopping her words and using her teeth to separate the mats and take away the burrs, especially on his legs. From muzzle to tail-tip, she would leave not a single hair ungroomed. - an' carryin' on like that gunna make ya too weary on yer paws ta get where we be goin'.