My old dog is hairy...like Guinness Book of World Records hairy. And he's shedding. Really bad. In fact, I'm convinced that 97.3% of his dog food intake is going straight to fur production.
The sheer volume and magnitude of fur that is being shed right now is overwhelming. It's gargantuan, preposterous, and maddening!
I love my dog. I hate his fur.
Because of my deep devotion and unconditional love, I allow my dog inside my home. But because of my hatred for his fur, I vacuum and dust religiously every day.
And I own "The Furminator".
"The Furminator" is the only weapon I have in my arsenal for combating the hair monster. It's like a grooming comb and blade that pulls out the undercoat of beasts. Every time I use my secret weapon, I fill a grocery sack with hair. But my dog's hair growth is so prolific that even "The Furminator" can't keep up with it. When my dog sees me approaching with my secret weapon, he diverts the eyes and tries to make a quick get-away.
In between grooming sessions, I find myself picking small chunks of loose fur off of him the way that primates pick fleas off of each other's backs. It's like an obsession. When my dog was young and vibrant, I didn't have to worry about any of this nonsense. He practically lived in the back of the truck. Traveling down the highway at 65mph blows all of the offending fur right off of him. Cars traveling in our wake probably had to use the windshield wipers to clear the flying fur away, but it was an effective grooming method.
Gone are the days of wind grooming in the back of the truck. Now Boone is too old to jump in, and whenever I have to lift him in the truck, my outfit gets covered in dog hair. Needless to say, his riding time has been greatly diminished, but I do occasionally give in to his sad eyes and sacrifice my outfit to put him in the back of the truck. If it weren't for the invention of the lint roller, I'd never be able to show my face in public again.
Just writing this blog about dog hair is making my nose twitch. That's how much I hate fur.
I hate dog fur in the spring.
I hate dog fur in the fall.
I hate dog fur in the winter.
I hate dog fur most of all.
I do not like it in the park.
I do not like it in the dark.
I do not like green eggs and ham.
I do not like them Sam I am!
Wait. What?!? ( Sorry. I got a little carried away there.)
My sister-in-law made the observation that our entire family has a tendency to stretch the truth about some things when we're telling stories. I like to think of it as merely using my all-time favorite literary device of "hyperbole" to get the point across.
Hyperbole - "Obvious and intentional exaggeration. An extravagant statement or figure of speech not intended to be taken literally.
This blog post, for instance, is a great example of a "hyperbole".
I would just like to end with one last statement:
I hate dog hair.
Hyperbolizing the world, one blog at a time,