Wednesday, April 24, 2019

Eat My Dust

     The title has nothing to do with my driving speed. I'm referring to my house. Our yard is basically silt with grass on top. Easy to dig in. No rocks to slow the dogs' excavation efforts. This year we went directly from snow covered to dusty. One day we're scooping poop out of the snow at our annual winter's end Soggy Doggy Doo Do, the next day the dogs are kicking up dust clouds as they run around the yard. This would not be so bad if both dogs had short hair like the Husky mix, Odin, but Baldr, the Malamute, is essentially an enormous powder puff and dust clings to his fur like Democrats to Russia collusion. My air purifier has as little chance of clearing the air as a "Me Too" accused. Pardon my waxing political.
     Banning Baldr from the house would be cutting off my nose to spite my face. As the poet said--Tis better to be loved with dust, than never to be loved at all. (And because I altered the wording, that is neither a quote nor plagiarism.)  So the dust devil duo are here to stay and dust is taking over my house. Buying a Norwex dust mitt was mostly a symbolic gesture. Housecleaning makes me want to punch something. The dust mites win. I concede defeat. I may use a tablecloth to hide the dust on the dining room table, but I get my revenge. I eat it.

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