Vacuum Wars

As I attempted to suck up a man devouring-sized ball of fur yesterday, I realized that my vacuum wasn't working quite the way it should be. By that I mean it was coughing and wheezing and spitting dust at me, instead of sucking it up. So I bundled the vacuum in the car and took it to the repair shop. The nice man there was happy to take it off my hands, but said he couldn't get it back to me for 10 days. 10 days?!?!

Now, normally, 10 days without a vacuum wouldn't bother me so much. I hate to vacuum. I hate the noise. I hate the smell of the dust getting stirred up. When was a child, my mom used to clean when she got really mad, so the sound of a vacuum still puts knots in my stomach.

But we have a medium-sized black dog who sheds like he thinks he's a Great Dane. My kitchen constantly has cat-sized balls of black fur tumbling through on the way to the living room. To add to that, we are dog sitting for Copper, Cole's best buddy. (See fig. 1) She is a gorgeous Golden Retriever, but man, can she shed. Together they make the Hairballs of Doom (HOD).

Fig. 1

These suckers are like nothing I've ever seen. I think the other day, one of the HOD tried to eat Tommy. It's that bad. And they come back every day, even when I whisk them away or suck them up.

So 10 days without a vacuum is almost a death sentance. At least we'd be warm under all that fur.

But wait - what's that I hear? It's a Christmas Present Miracle!

That's right. My mother-in-law, also known as The Best Gift Giver Ever, has struck again. This year she gave me a Dustbuster, a high powered one with two speeds and some sort of fancy tornado suction thingy. The important point is that it works. And it obliterates the HOD with a mere flick of the switch.

Poof, they're gone.

We may just make it through, after all.