a view from the laundry pile…

…it's all about perspective.

Would you like a side of dog hair with your burger?

on April 13, 2012

As I mentioned before, we have dogs.  Three of them, to be exact – and all rescued as puppies.  The oldest, Ruby, is a Pointer-Aussie mix.  Middle dog, Kimber, is a Dobie-Collie mix. And then there’s Samantha, the baby, who’s part Corgi, part Lab, and part sneaky little dog down the street.  They’re each 3 months apart so they’ve grown up together.  They eat, play, and fight…just like all other sisters do. 

Looking back, most people thought we’d kinked our Slinkys to believe that three puppies, at the same time, was a good idea — and, perhaps, they were correct.  Sooo, there might’ve been one or two times when Fred came home from work to find me sitting on the kitchen floor, on the brink of tears, because I couldn’t get one them out from under the bed…aaand, maybe once in a while, one of them would shred an entire roll of toilet paper or destroy a pair or glasses (or three).  But, mostly, it was a lot of fun and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.  In fact, I’m still trying to talk Fred into adopting another one (“we still have this much room in the car…so, if we get a dog this big…”).  Yeah, I’ve never been accused of being “too sane…”

Having three dogs isn’t really that much different than having one.  There’s just ‘more’ of everything – including hair.  Lots and lots of dog hair.  And it gets everywhere.  It wasn’t until we went out for breakfast one morning that I remembered buttered toast wasn’t supposed to be fuzzy…

After the fifth vacuum, “specially made for pet hair,” started smoking and making a horrible sound like an angry cat in heat, we had no choice but to switch to a heavy-duty shop vac.  Dragging it through the house isn’t as convenient as an upright but it helps keep the dog hair to a minimum, though people still think we have wall-to-wall carpeting when the floors are, actually, linoleum.

We’ve even gotten to the point where, not only do we not buy black or white clothing anymore we, intentionally, look for clothes that match the dogs.  “Excuse me. Do you have this in Australian Shepherd brown or Corgie tan?” 

And, the thing is, I do brush the dogs, on a regular basis and I do sweep a few times a week.  Yet, we still end up with large clumps of fluffy hair wafting through the house, usually scaring the crap out of me in the middle of the night when I see them out of the corner of my eye, racing around the floor if I walk by them too quickly. I even think Fred’s convinced I’ve secretly gone out and gotten another dog, and am hiding it somewhere in the house, because he, like me, cannot fathom where it all comes from.   

 

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