But humans are constantly fiddling with theirs, clipping it and colouring it and sticking ribbons in it, and every now and then they get designs on ours as well.
As a cockapoo I obviously have many distinguished ancestors on the poodle side, some of whom, according to family folklore, were subjected to terrible procedures with tongs, ribbons and shavers and ended up looking like small ornamental hedges on four twigs. Yuck.
Luckily my owners have no such ambitions but, since I am a member of a non-fur-shedding breed and prone to shagginess, I am seized from time to time and carted off to a strange white room where a cooing woman clips me almost down to the bare flesh.
As a result I am darn chilly for a couple of days and approximately half my former size. But on the other hand I am also sleek and - dare I say it - slender, and impossibly difficult to catch.
This is especially useful when my cruel owners seek to grab me and hurl me into the garden for a late-night pee before bedtime. In my newly shaven state I wriggle free and race upstairs to hide. Ha!