Sierra+M's+OpEd+Article

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Furballs On an almost average night at the McAvoy household something terrible lurks in every corner as I spend an hour snuggling with my sleepy 9 week old “nugget of love” Labrador puppy. My mother is dozing on the couch with monkey, a small terrier mix in her lap. On two of the many dog beds strewn around the house lie Atlanta, a rescued greyhound, and Jewel, an older yellow Lab. Under the covers in my parent’s bed “Miss Cat” is hiding from this motley crew. I’ve always lived in a house filled with animals (although Atlanta and Monkey are just sojourners in our home while their owners are in Tahiti), and I love all of them dearly.

However, there is just one thing that I abhor. Granted this isn't an issue with society, but I’m a little ashamed to admit it as an animal lover, that when it comes to shedding fur, I am borderline neurotic.

When I was 7 years old, I got my first dog Bailey, and one of my first chores: vacuuming. As he grew older and bigger, this chore needed to be done more frequently until finally it seemed endless. I could vacuum all day, 24 hours a day, and I would never keep up with all of the fur that my puppy was endlessly dropping. And it wasn’t just on the floors.

Dog fur is a never ending traveler. It sticks to feet and shoes and goes to places that no dog has ever been. It collects itself into large balls that blow across the floor in a tumbleweed fashion, tickling toes mercilessily, and taunting you as if saying "Go ahead, try and vacuum //all// of me up." It’s constantly being kicked up by activity and floating aimlessly through the air until, undoubtedly, it reaches a drink or a dish of food. Some people say “No outfit is complete without dog fur.” While that’s a lovely thought, I’ll continue buying my jumbo bundle of lint rollers from Cosco. It always manages to attack eyes, noses, and mouths causing momentary but severe alarm and discomfort. My car (passed down from my mother) used to be the designated dog carrier. It has fabric upholstery. Will I ever getout of that car in a dog-furless outfit? Not a chance.

Not only will it infiltrate in an omnipresent fashion, but it will do so carrying fleas and allergens, and my cat, being an outdoor/indoor cat is well familiar with them. Even better, when flea medication is put onto her fur, she rubs it off, or when she’s given a pill, I’m certain she makes a point of throwing that one up. So when she’s miserable from her flea bites, what does she do? She climbs into bed with me, seeking comfort. And I have to feel bad for her, so I let her stay. The next morning I’ll be blanketed in a hoard of emerging red bites that will plague me nonstop for the next week..

So what am I going to do to solve my neurosis? Probably grumble and moan all through flea and shedding season, but ultimately I’ll suck it up. I love my pets, and I’ll continue owning pets all of my life (I do have a thing for hairless cats) and for now, little Romeo is waking up so I think I’ll draw this to a close and go kick up some fur.