Today I shaved open a Yorkshire Terrier’s butthole, because her fur had grown long, and dingleberries merged into a sort of cement made of hair and poop, which attempted to spackle off any feces elimination potential.
This is what being an adult means. You’re not a different person. You still feel young and silly. But it falls on you to shave the dog’s butthole when the need arises.
Just FYI.