My dogs are shedding right now. Oh, who am I kidding, they're almost always shedding. But it is worse in the summer when they drop their fluffy warm undercoats. Because neither man nor beast should have to swelter under a double coat of fur in the heat and humidity of Iowa July. Yes, that is a suggestion to the hubster than he might want to shave one of these days.
Their shedding has left piles and clumps of fur all over my hardwood floors. When I turn the ceiling fan on, the fur scurries away like living creatures, crowding into the corners of the room in search of escape. Because of this, my trusty Dyson stands at the ready for anyone to suck up the fur, lickety-split. And I've been using it daily and sometimes twice a day to manage the cartwheeling tumbleweeds of dog fur.
Apparently, however, I am the only being in the house that notices the fur. I already know that I am the only one who obsesses over it, vowing to hunt it down and suck it into submission. I say that it bothers no one else because I did not have a chance to perform a pre-work sweep this morning and now I am home at the end of my part-time day and the fur has not only not budged, but it has multiplied.
As a result, I am spending 10 minutes on this blog entry, then I'm teaming up with my Dyson to suck up the dog fur. Again. And again. And again. I think that the fur actually breeds faster than laundry, and we all know how quickly that gets out of control...