Monday, September 19, 2011

War of the Worlds, or How the Vacuum Ate My Dog.

Just a typical day in la-la-land.  
One of us cleaning the power head of the vacuum with a seam-ripper, tackling a tangled web of ribbons, threads and string (don't even ask), one of us working the steam iron, both of us distractedly oblivious to Nelson, the wee dog.  

As in any hysteria, there was noise--lots and lots of noise:  screaming females, yelping dog, and growling, protesting machinery.  Was there smoke?  Oh yeah, that came later.

The tail was still all there.  Nothing appeared broken.  Quiver, tremble, sigh, breath.  Breath again and keep on breathing, shushing, crying, and patting backs of humans and canine alike.  It was over....  

Wait, what's smoking?


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