He is a good little boy. Full of energy and affection, keeping out of trouble.
Most of the time.
(Why is it that paper napkins and tissues are a bigger draw than anything else that lands on the floor?)
We bought the little dog, thinking he'd make a good companion for our daughter. A faithful buddy, keeping her company whenever she needed it. A little ball of fluff, never to shed, never to cause even a hint of a sneeze for an overly allergic household.
But one thing we didn't consider was how low this guy is to the ground. Mowing a day or two off schedule means he's walking through a jungle.
And I thought I was short.
That's how I noticed it all. After vacuuming the latest evidence of the dog's journey outdoors, it seemed that no matter how long I vacuumed, the bits and pieces kept appearing. On my newish carpet. Ever by my side, he followed as I cleaned, dropping more of Mother Earth on the floor.
It's amazing how that beautiful, long-ish fur works about as well as hook-and-loop tape when it comes to bringing in the great outdoors. Especially when it comes to those long, stringy tree droplets that fall to the ground as beautiful green leaves open for the season. The skinny tan things, which disintegrate the moment they are plucked from fur, falling to the ground in a million little flecks. And, oh, how they hide, tucking themselves deep out of sight.
Thank goodness, they last only for a week or two. Thank goodness, the vacuum hasn't given up on me yet.
Too bad it doesn't work on today's gift. Sticks.