Lost in the pickers

At least, that's what I call them. Here they're known as sand spurs. The little burrs on the end of the stalks fly off at the slightest disturbance and poke you, and then when you pull them out, the little barbs on the end don't want to let go.

Today we took a side track and ran smack into a patch of the damn things. Daisy got them in all four paws so I ended up carrying her out of there. I hate them, I do.